


Mine Is The Moon (And The Stars Agree)

by The_Hunter_Nightingale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Chessmaster! Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Grieving, Harry has a lack of self-preservation - discuss, Harry speaks in riddles to bother people and sound all mysterious, Loss, Manipulative! Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Pseudo-Marriage, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Hunter_Nightingale/pseuds/The_Hunter_Nightingale
Summary: Elizabeth Potter is 5 when her world dies, and 15 when she learns to piece it together again; one broken, dying promise at a time.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 32
Kudos: 145





	1. I See The Moon (And The Moon Sees Me)

**_"I see the moon and the moon sees me;_ **

**_Shining through the leaves of the old oak tree._ **

**_Oh, let the light that shines on me,_ **

**_shine on the ones I love..."_ **

* * *

It is 1986 in Great Britain, and the world turned.

There is a girl, scarred and broken but somehow still whole, trudging through Devon.

She is small, waifish, with hands that ill fit her innocent countenance; bruised, scarred, bleeding still from small littering cuts. Dotting her forearms, between patches of pale flawless skin, are bruises innumerable and dashed with blood. Between her fingernails, dried and still dripping, is blood.

Thrumming through her veins is blood, pounding in her head is blood, flashing through her vision is blood.

Blood and _magic_.

Her eyes, once green, once a pure shade of emerald unseen before, lie a shade of their former selves. Comparable once to gemstones or trees of such a verdant shade that it was hard to find comparisons to do her justice, they are nothing but an awful pale shade of bland green. Not verdant, not emerald, but a green so bland and faded that it almost looks grey.

Her hair, black, knotted, flowing as though a ragged curtain behind her little head. Its length to her waist, but with leaves and twigs weighing it down it’s hard to tell.

She is five years old when she discovers Accidental Magic.

She is six years old when she _kills someone_ with Accidental Magic. She is six years old when she screams and begs to be let out of her cupboard, the onset of starvation kicking in, her ribs feeling as brittle as her skin. She is six years old when she kicks and punches and scrapes with her nails at the door, unheard by her cruel family whose laughter she can hear. She is six years old when she snaps, when her magic follows suit, when it bends and breaks and twists until all she can see are bodies stilted in unnatural ways.

_All she can hear are the snakes calling her their Empress, and that a cupboard is an ill-fitting place of residence for royalty_

All she sees is the moon when she steals their money, packs her clothes, and runs in a direction that _isn’t Surrey_. She takes buses, steals food, escapes with a hair’s breadth between her and the grubby hands of some vagrant. It lights her way, shows her the path, and her magic does the rest and throws her around; sometimes away from danger. Sometimes into it.

She is six and a half when she kills someone with her hands.

Her eyes are vacant, looking at something only she can see, but there’s also something she can see outside of her internalised worldview; a girl, silvery, ethereal. Innocent.

Pretty.

Something Elizabeth Lillian Potter knows she’ll never be.

_“You are pretty,” a voice whispers. A caress against her cheeks, a kiss to her forehead. “You are the prettiest, from the prettiest, and you will be everything you want to be.”_

She hasn’t a clue what the girl’s doing, nor why she seems to gasp and drop something large and metal that clangs with an awful shrill sound when it falls. Nor does she know why small arms and wrapped around her, or why there are fingers threading the leaves from her hair.

Nor why she feels safe, with a girl she’s never met before, in a place she’s never been, in a world she hates and wants to leave.

* * *

_“I see the moon and the moon sees me,”_ Pandora sings, and Elizabeth swears it’s the prettiest song she’s ever heard.

* * *

Elizabeth Lillian Potter is 10 when her best friend Luna Lovegood’s mother dies.

She is 10 when she watches her sister fall apart before her very eyes, but powerless to stop it beyond hugs, and sweet kisses that taste like what she thinks the moon would. She is 10 when the world falls apart for her all over again, when her father kills himself – accidentally, of course – in a driving accident.

She is 10 when she and Luna pull themselves back together and breathe, when they take in the world they live in and whisper to each other between sobs and gasps of sadness ‘no more’.

She is 10 when she finds out the Potter name is something akin to royalty, that magic practically kisses her fingers and demands she rule it with the hand of a queen. She is, after all, a Potter Heir, it says to her. Luna doesn’t disagree, and so she becomes what she is.

_The snakes in the garden bow to her when she passes, whispering ‘Empress’ and ‘Queen’ as she walks, and her grin threatens to snap her face in half._

She is Elizabeth Potter, Heiress to the Potter seat, a Most Ancient And Noble House indeed.

_The voice is back, and it tells her things she hates to hear. “You are everything and anything you would wish,” It says, and she snarls back at it: “Liar!”_

She is 10 when she accepts Luna Lovegood into her family; but of course, it’s _never_ that simple. It’s never as easy as _‘You are my sister, not by blood of course but family still’_ and the world bending its knee to the queen’s proclamation.

She is 10 when she finds a loophole – and a vault of money so large she can’t see the top, and a house in her name, and that she’s _also Heiress of the Black_ _family_ – in the rules of ‘too minor to make decisions’ and draws up a marriage contract between her family and Luna’s.

She is 10 when she legally becomes Elizabeth Lillian Black Potter, Heiress to The Most Ancient And Noble House of Potter-Lovegood.

* * *

“Y-You have so many Wrack-Wrackspurts zipping around y-y-you,” Luna jittered out, heaving sobs following, “I d-don’t like the look of them around you.”

“Oh, Luna…”

Elizabeth Potter-Lovegood is 10 when she realises Luna is broken, shattered, her once-brilliant mind scattered to the winds and pieced back together as a cruel mockery. With every nonsensical word from her lips Elizabeth can feel her soul shatter just that little more.

_The snakes in the garden whisper soothing platitudes, that she would get better. That their Empress’s Moon would shine once more._

Luna was literally the only reason she had to keep going, and if she was gone from her life as Luna’s parents were…she’d snap. Something, someone, would suffer – and she had this sinking feeling it would be more than just her that suffered her inevitable breakdown.

_“You have such a tragic love,” The Voice coos, and she hates every syllable. “You have fallen for the moon, but no matter how hard you try you cannot reach it.”_

_And she whispers back, heartbroken and mind numb, “I know.”_

She’d keep it locked away, that side of her so thirsty for blood, or the ability to whisper secrets and sew discord with nary a thought, or her ability to lie as easily as breathing. She’d lock it away and drown the remains if she had to.

Not if – she _did_ have to, and she would; she was the antithesis of what Luna needed from her, and she’d drown every part of her in saltwater and acid if she had to. Anything to keep Luna away from that dangerous edge.

So, she sang. Angelic, _broken_ , jittery and a mess – everything she was, everything she hoped to keep Luna safe from.

She sang, sobs tearing apart her words but the sound getting through uninterrupted. If she had to dip into her powers that scraped away at her beneath the surface of her skin, she would.

She’d suffer the pain of forcing her Parseltongue to sound as smooth and rich as honey, instead of the cold and venomous hisses it usually was. She’d suffer the back of her throat tearing itself apart from the effort, or the permanent damage it would do to her should she keep it up for too long, or the agony of venom pouring through her veins and throbbing behind her eyes. She would keep it up even as her tear ducts wept acid and blood leaked from her nose.

_The snakes in the garden sing with her, a rictus of horrific whispers and hisses become something akin to angelic hymns._

She’d suffer _anything_ for Luna.

_“I see the moon and the moon sees me…”_

* * *

She is 11 when she gets her acceptance letter into Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, and a giant knocks on her door.

She is 11 when she turns him away, threats and curses on her tongue and a fire lit beneath her soul; they would have her away from Luna to train in a magic she’s been teaching herself using the Black Family’s Library, from the Lovegood Family’s scrolls, from the Potter Family’s Vault? They would have her learn amongst those her own age, when she is leagues beyond them?

_Fools, the snakes in the garden whisper, and she agrees wholeheartedly._

Luna wasn’t getting better; she was getting worse, and it kills her inside to see it. Her moon, her everything from the stars to the sun to the air she breathes, was dying in front of her with her mind in tatters and her soul following, and she could do nothing?

In a world of magic and powers and dead gods and dying dragons and unicorns and _power_ , she has to suffer more indignation and choose powerlessness…in a world of magic, she had to watch her only source of life snuff itself out?

_“No,” She snarls, the snakes hissing in anger and joyous agreement. “She will not die.”_

Her moon would not fall; it would regain its radiance, and to do that she needed power. So, as she sat there on the carpet in front of a fireplace, magic book in one hand and the other stroking through silver locks, Elizabeth realised something.

To be powerful, beyond all, in a world of power…well, if she were such a thing she’d be unstoppable, and not even her sweet moon’s death would stop her from bringing back that radiance. If the earth were to crumble beneath her she’d make more, if the air were to burn up and vanish she’d make more, if the oceans were to dry up she’d make more. She would not be stopped by petty powerlessness.

_“Your love is broken, and it will kill her and you both,” The Voice sobbed, and she ignored it with a snarl of “Never!”_

She’d strive for the power to soothe her moon, and then she’d use said power to ensure her moon’s safety.

_The Empress’s moon, the snakes in the garden whisper, and she ignores the doves that flock to her weeping._

Elizabeth was committed, and so she trained and studied. Old magics, new magics, even magics never thought to exist. Runes, languages, incantations and equations, Animagus Forms and Arithmancy, Divining and Dark Arts, Potions and Transfiguration.

She learned all and watched with tears as her moon deteriorated even faster with each year that passed.

* * *

Luna hummed an old song she couldn’t remember, but Elizabeth could with perfect clarity, and sang along as her moon lay dying in a garden of mourning snakes, drowning in self-inflicted poison and leaking blood from pale lips.

She is 15 when the doves arrive and sob as she clutches her dying, sweet moon to her chest. Her heart is erratic, and she knows by the end of tonight, beneath the pale shade of the Celestial Body above, that she’d never know what a heartbeat feels like again.

If Luna dies tonight, she will too – in every sense, in every meaning. Love would evade her and she’d suffer in a half-life for the rest of existence.

She was 15 and powerful, having toppled Voldemort with little effort and having subverted Albus Dumbledore in his attempts to recruit her. She was powerful and deadly and dangerous, and magic bowed its head and kissed her feet, and the snakes whisper hymns of her power in passing and with awe.

And she _couldn’t save her moon_.

So, she’d remember her instead.

“I’m dying, Liz.” “A hand weakly lifted to cup to the side of her chin, shaking with the effort but not leaving for a second. “My head’s the clearest it’s been for years.”

Tears drip from her pale face, leaking from pale green eyes and splattering on Luna’s shirt.

Why is her moon’s sanity granted to her, but only when she’s dying?

“I know,” She whispers, and something in her shatters and breaks until she doesn’t know what it was anymore when Luna smiles at her. Radiant. Beautiful.

Everything she should have been.

Everything that was taken from her.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?”

She leans down, a not-so-chaste kiss planted on her dying moon’s lips. Luna’s in response curl upwards in a grin.

She pulls back and tastes blood but makes no mention of it. Then licks the poison away and bares a shaky smile.

“I’ll be watching, you know.”

“Yeah?”

Luna lifts a shaky hand to the moon above them both, pointing with wobbly fingers. “I’ll s-see you from up there.”

Despite the situation and the light leaving Luna’s eyes hinting their time together closing, Elizabeth smiles for the first time in what feels like years. It’s a watery, ugly thing that makes her hate herself, and yet Luna seems to _love_ it.

“All the way up there, huh?”

“Y-Yeah…all the way…” There’s a gulp – _the blood in her throat, she thinks_ – and Luna’s eyes lock with hers. “Lizzie…Y-You re-remember that d-d-drink…?”

Between sobs and shaky hiccups, she nods. “Yeah…the-the uh…Butterbeer one?”

Luna beams, the act looking as frail as she felt. “Th-that’s it…” her eyes lock with the moon, and slowly close.

_“I see the moon and the moon sees me…”_

Her ears are deaf to Elizabeth’s sobs and wails to ‘stay awake’. And her last words are burned into Elizabeth’s mind.

“B-Bring some…when you vis…visit…”

“Moon? My…m-my Moon!? No, no, nonono…”

She sobs for an hour, and spends another holding her close to her chest and whispering promises that she’d keep if it kills her – she swears on something she doesn’t understand, on something she doesn’t know, and ignores the brief flash of lightning she sees behind tears.

“I promise…I’ll always visit you. The-the anniversary date. I’ll bring you that Butterbeer you like…”

“…I promise, I…I’ll always talk to you whenever I can. You liked your stories, right? I’ll go on adventures, and tell you all about them…”

“…I’ll sing to you; you liked that, right? Said my voice sounded soft…”

And then she hissed a promise The Fates had not seen, and ignored the way the world wept for the monster she’d turn herself into.

“…You said you wanted peace…yeah? Like…like the kind your dad wrote about in the Quibbler? I’ll bring that…force it on the world if I have to…”

So she sat there, beneath a pale moon, with stars in her eyes and blood on her hands, grass painting her knees and sobs tearing her fragile heart to pieces. With the moon in her arms and snakes cursing the world, with magic weeping for her when she couldn’t anymore, and her blood freezing and slowing. Her heart returning to her a normal pace, and never rising or falling.

_The Empress’s Moon is dead, the snakes hiss, and her face is blank and porcelain._

_The doves weep and she hears their cries. “Smile, frown, cry, be angry and hateful and mourn the world and all its hatred. Love, hate, despair, do something! Leave Britain, travel the world, find your moon again!”_

_She only pays attention to the words in her head. “Half-Blood,” they whisper, and she orders her magic to follow the trail._

The grass sways in a breeze that doesn’t exist, and the moon above looks on with a smile she hasn’t seen since Pandora’s death.

And Elizabeth Lillian Black Potter-Lovegood, with a ring on her finger and a kiss to Luna’s cold temple, packs her things and leaves Britain.

* * *

She doesn’t get lost, doesn’t know how to; the wind calls her and she answers with a fervour she knows she’ll never get if she ignores it. She’s not a bird, she can’t fly or sing very well, but she is a wisp – she follows the call of the winds, listens as thunder rumbles her name and relishes the look of lightning.

She meets a kid along the way, a girl with hope in her eyes and a twinkle that suggests she knows more than anyone ever could. That she’s the smartest in the room but knows not to let anyone else know. It’s clever, and far more befitting a Daughter of Athena than even some of the more well-known children the Goddess has had.

Somewhere she finds a kid called Grover – a Satyr, apparently, and a new one too. It’s their jobs to find new ‘campers’ and escort them back to Camp Half-Blood – an auspicious title to be sure, but she simply needs to know if it’s the sanctuary she’s been promised.

There’s another kid as well, a tag-along by the name of Luke, and the boy’s infatuated with her. It’s easy to see when you see the signs, and it’s not too difficult to ignore.

They were just outside the camp when the winds whispered ‘danger’, and being the cautious person she is, she ordered the group to begin running – looking behind her, Thalia’s eyes locked with that of a Hellhound’s, and her feet picked up speed she didn’t know they had.

Those things were _terrifying_.

She can’t remember much, only that she ordered the others to hide in the camp as she fought the monsters back – they were kids, and she’d be damned if she let the kids die to stupidity. She’d shield them if she had to.

One thing led to another thing that led to a monster tearing her down and nibbling on her bones – the agony was indescribable, but even then she fought with her shield and punched and kicked and _shot lightning from her hands_.

But before she could die, a whisper caught the winds; not the one she’d usually hear, either, but a sigh instead of a shout. Weary instead of strong, commanding instead of demanding.

Thalia Grace lay there, bones exposed and flesh rendered, eyes watering and heart thudding, and all she could think was ‘I need to stay awake’.

Her eyes were heavy but her ears worked just fine – the snarls of the monsters, ignoring her and chasing their newest target, the cries of the campers having watched the ordeal, the hooves of something that sounded like a horse but no whinnying followed.

The sound of a girl’s voice, ringing out even though spoken blandly; _“Avada Kedavra.”_

A flash of green lightning that forked between each and every monster in the area; number in the fifties or more, and each deadlier than the last.

Each reduced to golden motes of nothingness.

And before the pain caught up with her, Thalia Grace knew love for the first time in her life – because stood in front of her, a sneering face of impassivity moulded on porcelain features, was a girl she’d gladly shield as she had done for these children.

Because this girl was _beautiful_ , and Thalia, before slipping into the darkness, wanted to say as much. Her heart was erratic, and she knew this was love – because what else was it? Actually, she could be delusional – she _was_ dying, after all – but there was something ephemeral about this girl that just rinsed a bunch of monsters with a wave of a hand and two words.

Thalia Grace, before passing out, felt her spirits lighten when the girl locked eyes with her; green, the prettiest shade she’s ever seen – she ignored that baser part of her brain that scanned over the girl’s chest area, and realised she was _fucking gay as all hell_ , before finally passing out due to blood loss.

Elizabeth just looked done with the day.


	2. Where Eagles Do Not Fly...(Castles Tread)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not often Thalia reconsiders things before diving in; it's not often she gets called a bird, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason as to why Elizabeth talks the way she does, and you'll see the reason soon; I promise. Until then, have some more cryptic shit!

_“Tell me, Little Eagle; where are your talons?”_

_“…uh…?”_

_“Tell me, Little Eagle; which ways do the winds blow?”_

_“…Well…I mean, they tell me things I guess.”_

_“I see…” Silence; then: “Tell me, Little Eagle; for what reason do you fall instead of fly?”_

_“…You lost me.”_

_“Tell me, Little Eagle; for what purpose have you grounded yourself? Why are you caged, and not free as the bird you are? Why run on hobbled legs when you can soar above them all? why listen to the masses that tell you that you are something you’re not, when you can fly above them all?_

_Where is your majesty, Little Eagle?_

_Where is your pride, Little Eagle?_

_Where is your will, Little Eagle?_

_Why do you not fly?”_

_“I…don’t know. And who_ are _you, anyway? Why are you talking in damned riddles!?”_

_“…You may know me as Basilisk. Sleep well, Little Eagle, we’ll talk again soon, when you wake.”_

* * *

Cabin eleven was a mess of tangled limbs, sweaty bodies and a floor too small for the newest campers to even think about huddling on. Annabeth Chase wasn’t sure whether to punch Luke for offering his space for her or kiss him.

With the atomic blush spreading across her cheeks, Elizabeth figured it was the latter – _‘Hormones’_ , she thought with rolled eyes. She’d been in this camp for about two days and already her brain was thudding with the beginnings of a headache the likes of which she’d never felt before. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be teenage drama and raging hormones – the kids from the Aphrodite Cabin seemed to be eyeing up everything with legs, man or woman, and there was no one telling them to stop their blatant eye-rape anytime soon. Thankfully, she’d not been on the receiving end.

Yet.

_The snakes in the grass hissed “Unworthy!” when she passed the Aphrodite Cabin, and a vicious gleam entered her eyes, face deceptively blank._

Regardless, this camp wasn’t proving to be anything special, but she heeded the voice in her head for once – _wait_ , it said, _for your patience shall soon be rewarded_.

She waited another hour, and her patience was wearing thin when the whole Camp was called over for food; benches denoting which cabin you belonged to, with the cabin she technically belonged to – Cabin Eleven, of which she’d rather die than associate with – being an over-crowded mess with little room for even the residents of the cabin to sit, let alone the Unclaimed.

She was getting side-eyes from everyone, the area getting quiet until one could hear a pin drop, with whispers getting hushed and people watching with baited breath. For what? She had no idea, but Elizabeth was a mighty serpent slithering with mice – these rodents knew not when to watch and when to _kneel_.

_“You cannot fault them,” The Doves whisper. “They are but mortals and know not majesty when they see it.”_

_The snakes in the grass snarled and snapped: Bow to the Empress!_

Elizabeth watched with cold eyes as the Camp Residents soon turned back to their own affairs. Yet, as she was summarily ignored she spotted something interesting – every Camper had turned back to their own Cabin’s residents, but the Aphrodite Cabin was silent. They would be gossiping, exchanging vows of mischief and fashion tips, and yet they were silent, and it drew her attention.

They were staring at her, reverence and awe in their eyes; they knew her, knew who she was, what she was, just where they rested in the pecking order.

Without preamble she strode over to their bench, seating herself as regally as one could when surrounded by glossed fops and gossiping divas. There were no words until she began to eat, and those that spoke said her name in awe.

_The Eagle is awake, the snakes in the grass hissed, and she nodded._

She bid her subjects goodbye, standing and walking to the Medical Tent Thalia had been taken to. It stank to high heaven of the dead and the dying.

_“Death isn’t going to come for you,” The Doves whispered in her ear conspiratorially, as though sharing some cosmic secret. “Death loves you too much.”_

_“I care not for Death; The Moon is all I need.” She’d hummed back, and the Doves made an agreeing sound._

Elizabeth strode through the tent’s door of sorts, and her regal features took in the girl slumped against the side of her bed. Her left hand was clutching at her head, the right holding up her shaking body from falling completely against the floor. Her knees were wobbling and her body was as a leaf would be to the breeze.

“My, my, it would seem the Little Eagle has a tolerance for pain.”

Her eyes, filled with the pain her body was no doubt still in, widened at her entrance, and words spilled from her gasping lips.

“…Basilisk?”

“How sharp of you, Little Eagle.”

Thalia stuttered over words to say, mouth dry and knees getting weaker.

Elizabeth continued with her words, staring her in the eye.

“Tell me, Little Eagle; what is your favourite colour?”

Thalia just stared for a moment, her face a painting of confusion, before she just sighed and slumped down – a sitting position with her back resting against the bed’s frame, her legs no longer having strained themselves.

“I don’t _really_ have one…but I like green. Blue’s a nice colour too…”

“I am more partial to silver, myself.”

Elizabeth, for the first time since her Moon’s death, smiled – teeth pointed with fangs glinting, her eyes slanting as a snake’s would, her face otherwise blank.

It was not a nice smile.

Thalia, despite this, wondered why her heart beat faster in her chest, why her face felt hot and her hands got clammy when the girl approached her. Regal, calm, placid – her mind hissed at her, _‘Deceptive!’_ , and she agreed.

“Tell me, Little Eagle; did you find a reason as to why you don’t fly?”

“I…don’t know.”

Elizabeth hummed, a deep noise that seemed to make the girl’s face redden for a reason she couldn’t fathom – perhaps it was one of those not-a-snake-Empress things? Who knows? For all she knew she was speaking a different language entirely to these normal Demigods, and her riddles would go unappreciated – Luna loved her riddles and cryptic speaking because she, too, was a fan of cryptic speaking, and lord help anyone that found the two in a room alone; they’d talk circles around anyone they could.

Did no one appreciate a good riddle? Elizabeth mentally shrugged – wasn’t her problem, ever since her Moon died, she’d not been able to feel much anymore. Empathy, sympathy, all of it just…washed over her.

Perpetual apathy.

She locked eyes with Thalia Grace.

“You, Little Eagle, are to become a project of mine; you _will_ succeed, for failure will kill you. Success will make you uncontested.”

“Uh…don’t I get a say in this?” Thalia didn’t whine, but she did sound quite genuinely indignant that some girl she’s known for a grand total of four minutes decides her life for her.

“No.” She’d shut that foolish line of thought down immediately and began her speech on why she’d picked the Little Eagle. “You are but a pebble in the wider world of things, not the great mountain you should be at your age; considering your Godly Parent you should be evaporating The Kindly Ones with your fingers, but instead you can barely conjure a strong gust of wind, and _no_ , those little bolts of lightning didn’t count. You will not be such a small bird anymore, but the Eagle you are supposed to be! You, the Little Owl, one other, shall be implements on my chessboard – the highest honour any ruler can give her subjects, I assure you.”

_Her promise that she’d made to her dead Moon echoed through her skull, forceful peace or nothing – her chessboard was the planet, the other player the very Olympic Pantheon itself, and this was her first move._

Thalia gulped; there was something foreboding in these words, she just knew it. Well, she would if she understood what she was saying, anyway.

“What, uh, what are you saying? In…plain English, please?”

“Why, Little Eagle, I am to teach you! And little Annabeth Chase, The Owl, of course; but you both shall be the biggest focus until the third comes along.” There wasn’t a smile of Elizabeth’s face, but Thalia could see the beauty of what would become of her already gorgeous mouth if she did do one. And that was enough for Thalia – and at that same time she realised she was truly, and utterly, _hopeless_. “I will write you a schedule I expect you to follow to the letter – fret not, it shall be written around this silly Camp’s own imposed schedule – and I will write you a diet; you _will_ follow the diet to the letter, and even one dalliance from said diet will earn you a… _strict reprimand_. Every day at six-thirty in the morning you are to meet me by the lake, and if you are even five minutes late you will have _hell to pay_.”

Thalia knew true fear, then, when she locked eyes with her…instructor? Future torturer? Regardless, that burning look of seething poison flooded her body with a helpless feeling – and she ignored that small part of her that loved the look with steadfastness she didn’t know she had.

So, she mustered her courage, looked the teen in the eye, and bravely – bravely, mind you! – squeaked out a meek “O-Okay.”

Elizabeth leaned in to lift Thalia up back into the bed she’d slipped out of, an almost not-blank expression on her face – the first type of expression she might have seen that didn’t terrify her. It felt…maternal. Caring.

To be honest that scared Thalia more.

She found herself tucked in like an errant child evading sleep from its mother, and before long found a hand touching her forehead, stroking bangs from her hair. There was a gentle hum and that same not-expression she’d seen earlier on Elizabeth’s – Basilisk’s – face, but she was too tired to parse what it could be. Before her sight faded and Morpheus laid claim to her mind once more, Elizabeth planted a gentle kiss to her forehead.

_The snakes in the grass hissed a lullaby, and she joined with them in harmony._

“Sleep, Little Eagle. I will be here when you wake.”

Her eyes were closed and her heartbeat was steady, so she could be forgiven for missing the abject look of forlorn sadness upon Elizabeth’s face.

_“She is but a child, with such a heavy burden on her shoulders.” The Doves whispered, and Elizabeth agreed._

_“That is why she will be my child from now; I will shield her from that burden and give her a smaller one.”_

She ignored how the heavens jealously rumbled and left the Medical Tent for the day. Thalia would be awake in two days, so until then she’d best see about talking to her Little Owl.

* * *

She sat in a tent she’d pitched using her magic that night, sat at a desk with papers shoved to one side and notes tucked beneath a chessboard – she lifted up her castle piece, placed it down in direct interception of one of the enemy’s pawn pieces, and retired for the night with silver in her mind and a whisper on her lips.

A tear dribbled down her cheek; that castle piece was destined for such a heavy burden, but Elizabeth would do everything she could to lessen it – even if it means forcing Thalia to hate her in the process.

No child should have a burden greater than Elizabeth herself had. No child should be forced by some abstract gods of Fate to die for the betterment of anyone that isn’t themselves. She would take these three children of hers in, and they would be her own – they wouldn’t suffer any more than they had to. She would make them strong, powerful, and in return for her generosity they would help her fulfil her dream.

Luna’s dream.

But first…

“I have a story to tell you, Luna…I went on an adventure today…”


	3. Where Owls Do Not Glide...(Bishops Watch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not often a child is shown care when they have done nothing to earn it - in a world of Gods and Monsters, this truth is especially apparent to Annabeth Chase.
> 
> Then here comes Elizabeth Potter, and changes everything with a sneer and a glare, and Annabeth is transfixed.

_“Tell me, Little Owl, why do you watch?”_

_“You’re the girl that saved us at the Camp’s edge.”_

_A titter, not wholly unpleasant on her ears, echoed around her. “Sharp girl. A sharper piece you will be in the future…”_

_“You want me for something.” There was silence, now, but not for long. “You want me to be something, and because we’re in my mind that means you have a way of getting in here whenever you want. You’re very powerful…”_

_“Clever girl, so clever…so smart…” There was appreciative hum. “Yes, I knew I made the right decision with you.”_

_“Did you?”_

_“‘Did I’?” There was silence again. “Tell me, Little Owl, why do you watch?”_

_“To see what will happen and plan for it.”_

_“Tell me, Little Owl, why do you wait?”_

_“Only fools rush in without all the information.”_

_“Tell me, Little Owl…why don’t you glide?”_

_“I…I’m sorry?”_

_“You are a bird that sees from the skies, not the ground; why do you limit your vision to what you see from one perspective when you could see all that you would need to and all that ever could be?_

_Why do you limit yourself to such short-sightedness, Little Owl?_

_Why do you find pleasure in planning instead of acting, Little Owl?_

_Why do you watch and wait like prey when you are a predator of a different sort, Little Owl?_

_Why do you react instead of act, Little Owl?_

_Why don’t you glide, Little Owl?”_

_“I…I don’t…I don’t know…”_

_“…You may know me as Basilisk, Little Owl. Now sleep, we will talk when the time is right.”_

_“I…I don’t understand…”_

_“Nor should you, Little Owl; not yet. Sleep, Little Owl, we will talk in the morning. Answers come to those who wait for them…”_

* * *

There’s a time in every person’s life where they look at their life choices and wonder – just for a second, maybe a minute or two – how they decided choosing them was a good idea. It usually happens to adults, those in their thirties with their life slowly swallowing them up and their choices coming back to haunt them – suddenly, that strange comment you made as a fourteen year old isn’t so strange anymore, and you begin to wonder to yourself why, exactly, you chose to do what you did that led you to this point.

To, maybe, an unhappy marriage with two kids, and a once-loving wife called Sheryl who used to hold you close through nightmares and plant honeymoon-esque ideas in your head, and now she barely exists in the house and kisses you once in a blue moon. You’re struggling with alcoholism, and wondering where it all went wrong in your marriage for her to not even say your name when you make love anymore; your kids look at you like a stranger in your own home, and you’ve seen Sheryl talking to that Todd guy down the street – perfect teeth, Todd, with a Hawaiian shirt for every day of the week and money pouring out of his shoes. You’ve seen more life in her eyes than you have in all of your shared years of marriage together just after one day of her talking to this Todd guy; and your kids say he’s “just the coolest guy ever” but they hurry to reassure you they still think you’re pretty cool – even though you know the only cool thing about you is your beer cooler.

You see divorce papers on the desk in your shared bedroom one day – the only thing you two share anymore – and your life flashes before your eyes when you see the rumpled sheets and two sets of clothing leading into the en-suite of your bedroom.

And a soft giggle with a moan you haven’t heard Sheryl make in _years_ , and it dawns on you; Sheryl was unhappy. With you. You’re the cause of this unhappy marriage; you could have tried better but work…work found a way, and the kids had their games and their practice but the boss suddenly needed someone to fill in and their wasn’t anyone else…and…and it was all you.

While the moans hit a crescendo you reach into your pocket, sign the ‘consent’ part of the two-way divorce paper, and leave her a note.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t your happiness, Sheryl; the kids and you deserve more Todds in your life’

You lift your spirits – at least one of you will be happy – and you slide yourself into a depression you don’t know will end; not a mid-life crisis, you’ve passed that point already. Something close to it, though.

You sit there, at the trainyard where you met Sheryl dancing under fairy lights and glittering with unshed tears of happiness, and look at your hands in wonder; like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen them.

You look at your life, re-evaluate everything you’ve ever done and ever been through, and say to yourself: “Wow, I was an idiot.”

Elizabeth questioned herself, and not for the first time did she feel doubt pelt her with self-loathing and large chunks of anxiety. Her life was barely sixteen years old, and already she’d suffered and mourned, was still mourning, and grieved with loss. She’d decided to destroy the world for a silly little dream that Luna had one day – not even her own dream, but self-doubt at such a formative stage in her plans was, quite frankly, pathetic.

She stomped that self-doubt into the ground, shredded it with her heel and spat on it when she was sure it was dead.

_“Not an idiot, never.” The Doves hummed, and she nodded in agreement. “You’ve big plans for the world, and I would hate to see them fail.”_

_The snakes in the grass hissed; Our Empress will reign!_

Every shred of self-doubt and hatred was summarily executed in a particularly brutal and ritualistic fashion, and with that lovely thought she exited her tent; pitched with magic as it was, and warded against spiders and other undesirable insects, it still had a tendency to overheat in the morning sun.

She’d barely exited and taken in the fresh morning air when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.

“Ah, Little Owl, good morning.” Her thoughts were a little less congenial: _‘When I said we’d talk in the morning I meant after I’ve woken up properly!’_

“…Good morning, Basilisk.”

Annabeth Chase stood before her, wearing nought but a nightgown and some slippers – in the morning sun, at six-thirty. There was some sleep in her eyes that she hastily rubbed away when she caught Elizabeth staring at her, and some dried toothpaste lingered at the side of her mouth where she’d sleepily brushed her teeth.

Elizabeth used her magic to conjure up a napkin, and before the daughter of Athena could complain Elizabeth had one hand cupping her cheek to keep the child still and another to gently wipe the paste away.

_Annabeth could only think of what a hug might feel like, what a kiss to her forehead would be, what holding hands and smiling would look like, what the word “Mother” would mean._

_She ignored the upset feelings her godly parent was sending her._

“Why are you awake so early, Little Owl?” Even though Elizabeth was placidly blank her eyes showed a kindness and worry Annabeth had not felt anyone direct her way before. Her father did once; and even then, it was more muted than it was here. Elizabeth, a veritable mind-walking stranger that wanted to use her for something – maybe illegal, _probably_ dangerous – showed more care for her in five minutes and a simple gesture than her own father had in nine years.

Answering her with a beaming smile was the least she could do.

“I wanted to see you! You’re a smart lady, right? Well _I’m_ smart too!” She puffed up her chest at that, and Elizabeth let a breathy chuckle, unheard by Annabeth, escape her. “We smart girls need to stick together!” Then her smile dimmed slightly. “But you weren’t in Cabin Eleven and no one knew where you were…and everyone else around is so stupid! They were saying mean things about you, uh…and uh…I don’t believe them…!”

Elizabeth stomped down her squirming gut with a ruthlessness she was already becoming known for. Her face shifted itself of its own accord, however, and her snake-like green eyes grew wide and unseeing, but still bright. Her lips, flat and straight in a line twitched slightly, and she wonderer to herself just how long it’s been since someone showed such care for her. Even if it was selfish, and knowing it wouldn’t be a thing that would happen, she hoped for that feeling of care to stay in her dead heart for just a little longer.

It vanished as soon as she thought about it, and something in her mourned.

Her eyes dimmed, and Annabeth took notice.

“As you say, Little Owl; we are both the smartest in any given room, after all.”

Annabeth’s smile came back in all its beaming splendour, and something within her lurched; she crushed its throat and let it wriggle and die.

_“Would it be so bad?” The Doves asked her, and she had no answer._

Just as a thought managed to worm its way into Annabeth’s smart little head – _why is she so sad? Why is she looking like that? Why doesn’t she smile?_ – her stomach grumbled loudly, caught the interest – and amusement, to her horror – of Elizabeth. Her face lit up in a bright parade of reds and purples, and before she could squeak out an apology or voice her embarrassment, her mind went blank when she felt a smooth hand slide into her own and pull her towards the Camp’s benches for food. This early in the morning there would be no one around except for the natural early-risers.

“Come, Little Owl. We’ll fill you up with food, and we can talk more then.”

Annabeth, rather than ignore her feelings as a child is wont to do when confronted with things they don’t understand, embraced them. Homely, warm, like a fire set alight within her hands and spreading up to her chest, but not burning. Like warm water flooding through her system, something she hadn’t felt since the last time her father hugged her.

She was a smart girl, though, and knew that telling this girl she felt like how a home should was tantamount to suicide – just now, but maybe later down the road they could be open with each other, and she could tell her. Maybe during this breakfast of theirs. This ‘Basilisk’, this mind-walking enigma with riddles on her tongue and a sharp wit to her, was someone Annabeth Chase would not let go. She’d felt the warmth of a mother, however brief, and she would not let this warmth vanish without gripping it between talons for dear life.

Her hand squeezed Basilisk’s – Elizabeth’s – pale hand with all the tightness a nine-year-old could muster, and without thought Elizabeth unknowingly squeezed back.

Somehow Annabeth’s smile got wider. She side-eyed the woman holding her hand and spotted a pleased look.

She would not every willingly disappoint this woman who felt like family and home even if she was cold, she knew, and knowing this her smile almost felt painful the way it stretched her face.

* * *

“Little Owl, I believe I may have misheard you. Getting on in age, you see.” They both ignored how ‘getting on in age’ couldn’t be applicably used for someone who was only sixteen.

Annabeth locked her grey eyes with Elizabeth’s own, and recited: “You’re training me to be something, yeah?”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, having just finished her own breakfast and wondering to herself how Annabeth put away all that food in such a small form. Then her brain pointed out all the tell-tale signs of forceful malnutrition, and she scowled to herself.

Annabeth continued, having not seen – or just not mentioning, which was quite astute for a nine-year-old – the scowl. “But you won’t tell me what for…so I would like to pick what you train me as.”

Elizabeth slowly nodded her head. “Of course, Little Owl…you and Little Eagle were to choose anyway.”

Annabeth’s eyebrow quirked slightly, and her face scrunched up. “Eagle is…Thalia?”

A lip quirked behind a glass risen to a straight face, and green twinkled with pride. “Indeed. Such a clever girl already…”

She should have chosen later to drink her water, any other time, really. She doesn’t regret much, but losing her composure in such a way is one of her biggest regrets that she’ll carry with her to her grave. She would die with her indignation, and none would know of it – if they did, none were brave enough to comment.

Annabeth seemed to come to some conclusion, and her head nodded resolutely. “Right!” She stood tall, and in a mockery of an ancient Roman salute, proclaimed thusly: “I, Annabeth Chase, want to be trained as your Second!”

“Yes… you are smart enough, with a little training…okay, I can-”

“Andforyoutoadoptme!” She rushed it, but a stunned Elizabeth had ears the likes of which had no been possessed of any human before her, and so she heard with perfect clarity what was blurted.

Only the Gods – and Annabeth, of course, but she would deny it ever happened to save Elizabeth’s reputation from crumbling – witnessed the spectacular spit-take for the artistic magnificence it truly was.

* * *

A day later found Annabeth looking down her nose at the sleeping form of a girl she’d been trying to wake up for the last ten minutes; grumbles and half-hearted snarls were all she got, and she was at her wit’s end.

Thalia found herself awake from her not-coma with two small hands shaking her sides with urgency, and a voice she recognised as one of the kids she’d helped get to Camp.

“Would you _wake up_ already!?”

And then a boot slammed into her recovered side, and bright lights flashed behind widening eyes as her body tumbled from the warmth of her bed to the floor in a heap. Blankets curled around her body like a net, and her voice bellowed out.

“Gods damn it, you little brat! I was _asleep_!”

Annabeth studiously ignored her glare from beneath the blankets, and just pointed to a clock. After grumbling for a bit, Thalia looked, her brain caught up to her eyes, and she blanched whiter than her sheets.

Annabeth pretended not to see the fear she knew was there, and stood with her back straight. Hands clasped in front of her, chin up and eyes staring down her nose.

A perfect mockery of how Elizabeth would stand. Her voice, however, was nothing like Elizabeth’s, and she would soon find that she looked more cute than intimidating trying to imitate Basilisk.

“Eli-…Basilisk said for us to start our training at six-thirty in the morning, every morning.”

“Us…?” Thalia questioned, and then her eyes widened in what looked triumph. “Ahah! So, _you’re_ the Owl!”

“Yes. And _you_ are the Eagle.” Then she pointed at the clock again, swirled on her heels, and walked out – looking like a mini-Elizabeth all the while, with her hair flowing behind her in a sheet and all.

Still adorable.

The words she left behind weren’t.

“It is currently six-twenty-seven in the morning. Best not be late on our first day of training, I’d rather not disappoint Basilisk.”

Thalia had never moved so fast in her life.


	4. Birds of a Feather...(Rarely Work Well Together)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth hones her mind, Thalia hones her body, and Elizabeth hones both.
> 
> Hestia just wants to go a single day without something happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm involving Olympus here, more specifically Hestia, because she's important to the story later on.
> 
> Just not for the reasons you might think she is.

She placed her Bishop piece down on the chessboard in front of her, surveying carefully and plotting ten steps ahead of anything the Enemy might be able to think of. Her Castle was intercepting a pawn piece – the name of which she had no idea – but her eyes were locked on to the King piece the most. She’d placed the Bishop to the right of the Enemy’s leftmost Bishop, acting as a buffer between the Bishop and the Horse piece.

And yet she couldn’t see what she was planning for, she couldn’t see what was standing in the way of her goals; only that she knew, with a gut feeling and with her magic thrumming the air as affirmation, that something was going to happen – not soon, but maybe a couple of years’ time.

She’d had time to think her plans through, preparations, a near decade of magical training in every form of Magic there was – divining, to her, came in the form of her magic ‘gut feeling’; she played this game based on that feeling, and whenever she placed a piece she felt her confusion grow when the Enemy pieces were unmoving.

Her magic would have moved them by now, if they were being played; yet they aren’t.

“Basilisk?”

She kept her gaze on the King for a few seconds longer, before sighing and leaning back in her chair; to her left, on the desk next to the one the chessboard was resting on, were reports her Little Birds had compiled for her. Notes, weaknesses, strengths, observations, even strategies – though the latter was more her Little Owl’s forte than her Little Eagle’s. regardless, she’d need to read through them some time today.

To her right was an empty space, usually reserved for one of her clothing chests – that she’d surreptitiously placed an Expansion Charm on to act as an emergency spare bedroom should she need it – but said chest was pushed out the way and made room for Thalia.

Her Little Eagle had come a long way since they first started this training schedule; the diet she’d written up for her consisted of proteins and a mix of vegetable and fruit in every meal, and the efforts of that and constant exercise showed in the teen’s body. Legs were beginning to show a toning seen on the older Campers, with her arms, once flabby and unrefined, were showing straining muscles. Not quite to the point of being considered athletic, or anything of note, but she was getting there faster than most.

Right now, Thalia was busy practicing her sword swinging forms, trying – and failing – to effortlessly shift between one swing and the next. A ‘combination attack’ she’d called it, mixing in a wide variety of sweeps and kicks, with a healthy amount of stabs and slices that finished on a pirouette that masked a neck-swiping slash. She’d seen the results when Thalia had managed to pull it off once, and even unrefined and sloppy it was impressive to say the least – if the other attacks didn’t kill you, the pirouette-slash definitely would. But for now, she’d have to focus on actually making sure she could pull of the moves consistently with little to no time between each move.

She was an easily frustrated person, but Elizabeth felt proud when she watched Thalia go through some breathing exercises to calm herself after a failed attempt and get back into practice.

_“you need to slow down, or you’ll break before you can finish this.” Hushed the Doves, but she dutifully ignored the part of her that agreed._

She turned her gaze to Annabeth; still as small and as waifish as she had been a month ago, but at least she looked healthy now. Pale instead of opaque, thin instead of undernourished. She looked better now, and a small part of her that she crushed with force preened at how well the girl was coming along.

Her grey eyes were searching her own green ones; for what she couldn’t figure, but felt it best to keep her lack of knowledge on such subjects to herself. Weakness was likely to get you killed in this world of Gods and Monsters.

“Yes, Little Owl?”

She watched amusedly as Annabeth’s cheeks heated slightly, but to give the girl credit she ignored it.

The nicknames she’d made for them a while back remained, and it seemed to vex Thalia to no end; her argument was that she ‘wasn’t little’, but Elizabeth kept it up anyway. If not to annoy the girl, then to instil some sort of superiority over her. Annabeth didn’t even seem to mind the nickname she gave her – in fact the girl seemed to relish being called that, as though it were a secret between the two of them that only they knew of. It was, indeed, rapidly becoming something of a term of endearment to Annabeth, and something lurched in her when she realised that.

She gripped its throat and dropped it into the hellfire her soul was made of. Let that stupid feeling melt and rot for daring to show up. She had no room for feelings.

_“You intend to lighten their burden, so showing them you are good enough for it when the time comes is not unwise.” The Doves whispered._

“I wrote your report on the Ares Cabin’s newest member.”

“Oh?” The Ares Cabin, just recently, got a new person about Annabeth’s age; feisty, fiery with a real mouth on her. She’d already gotten a small following of ‘like-minded individuals’ that quickly created some sort of hazing process for any new Campers. They weren’t stupid though, and seemed to know who to target for said ‘initiation’; anyone smaller, weaker, younger, but they never went for the older ones. The ones with scars, the ones that had ‘proven themselves’ in their eyes.

It made her _interesting_.

“Report; biography.”

Annabeth nodded and gazed down at the sheet in front of her. “Name’s Clarisse, no last name as of yet.”

Elizabeth frowned in thought. “Does she not have one?”

Annabeth surprised her with a shake of her head. “No, she does, only Mr. D and Chiron know about it. She hasn’t told her…followers.”

“I see…” A lacking surname wasn’t an issue anyway, and was thus marked down as ‘interesting, but unremarkable’ when she told Annabeth to do so. Afterwards, she nodded her head for Annabeth to continue, and as she did so Elizabeth picked up another report on one of the other Campers.

“Right.” Annabeth coughed to clear her voice and continued. “So, Name’s Clarisse, Age nine, born in Phoenix, Arizona; daughter of Ares, was brought here by a Satyr instead of her mortal parent.”

“Unsurprising,” Elizabeth murmured. “Satyr?”

Annabeth didn’t even hesitate, relishing in the surprised yelp from an eavesdropping Thalia when she heard. “Gleeson Hedge.”

“Hm…interesting, but ultimately useless.” She sighed when she finished leafing through a shortly written biography on the boy they’d arrived with – Luke Castellan.

His prowess with a sword was becoming widely known already, and he’d only been here for a month. He’d bested some of the older kids and was said to be slated for a Quest soon, lest his rising skills go to waste and unappreciated – Thalia, with that information, was jealous, but ultimately understood that the Quest was god-sent and nothing to do with her.

She’d have to wait for Zeus to give her a Quest himself, or for Chiron to call her up to the ‘Big House’ to visit the Oracle.

“Anything else?”

Annabeth shook her head, answering immediately with a tinge of concern; she didn’t want to disappoint the closest thing she had to a mother. Not now, not ever, and especially not over something as stupid as a lack of information.

_She ignored what sounded like angry murmurings in her head._

“No. for a nine-year-old built like a brick – and a daughter of Ares, to boot – she’s surprisingly clever at keeping things secret when she wants to.”

“Hm.” There was silence for a long time as she stood there awkwardly while Basilisk leafed through some of the files she’d written up for her. Not at request, but when she’d done it for herself and Thalia they were praised up and down and she was asked for one of everyone in the Camp. The silence was dragging on for a full minute or two, and Annabeth was well past the point of worrying if she’d disappointed Basilisk now.

She was concocting all sorts of plans to get herself back in Elizabeth’s good books when the teen in question looked up from her file perusal.

“Little Owl, how goes your archery?” As she asked this, Elizabeth conjured herself a boiled tea pot and a teacup, and began pouring some tear for herself. Leaning back in her chair with teacup in hand and the aroma of tea drifting through the tent, Elizabeth made herself comfortable. Her magic obliged its monarch’s wishes and allowed the conjuring to go smoothly; never-ending tea from an unbreakable teacup, the temperature being eternally just below boiling temperature.

_Her magic bowed, and the snakes in the garden praised its loyalty._

Annabeth jumped onto the perceived olive branch. “Oh! Uh, my-”

“She sucks at it!” Thalia interjected, and thus what followed could be comparable to a war of words – Annabeth throwing, with deadly precision, insults aimed to dig deep. Thalia, in response, was blocking them with walls raised of apathy, and throwing back shots at height, weight, even her not-so-secretive crush on the Castellan boy.

The bickering, as it usually does, devolved into name calling.

“bird brain!”

“Dull eyes!”

“Dull e – insipid buffoon!”

“What does that even _mean_!?”

“It _means_ your IQ is just slightly above room temperature!”

“Yeah? How about I use my ‘room temperature IQ’ to steal away Luke then?”

“W-Why would I care about that!? You’re an idiot!”

Elizabeth sat back, with her teacup raised to her unimpressed-looking face, sipping her never-ending tea. Let them argue, let them fight, let them be kids. She had this sinking, horrible gut feeling that something was going to take that chance away from them, so she’d let them live it up as the children they are for now.

And her gut feelings are _never_ wrong. Something was happening, already in the motions, and something was going to happen _soon_.

* * *

Olympus was a mess of shouting, posturing and male pride practically painting the gaudy walls and indulgent atmosphere. Everywhere in the main Temple where they held their important meetings, Gods were stood about. Some were posturing, bragging about how they had done a better job than their Roman or Norse counterparts. Others, bragging of their recent conquests – sexual or otherwise, and it bothered her a little to think that that’s what most of the arguing was about.

Then again Hestia was considered a minor Goddess and, as such, was kept out of these meetings unless she interjected of her own will. The only reason she was even here in the first place was because of her stations; Goddess of Hearth and Home, of Family. She was, as her station would suggest, actually rather important to ensuring these arguments didn’t erupt into full-out brawls and fistfights that could destroy a significant portion of the Temple. Then again, her station would ensure people thought her weak, so when they came over, bragging and hoping to win her over, all she had for them were indulgent smiles. The occasional ‘I see’ or ‘that sounds interesting’, but most of the time many were warded off with a harsher-than-normal poke to the Hearth, and a smile just a little too wide for her face.

Still beatific.

In Apollo’s words; “Still fucking terrifying.”

Despite being the Goddess of Hearth, Home and Family she cannot always devote her attention to the goings-on in front of every ‘hearth’ on the planet; as such, she almost missed something intriguing that she’d never otherwise spot. She put it, however, on the ‘back-burner’, as Hermes would say. Instead, she turned her attention back to the Hearth and made sure it remained sufficiently stoked in case her thoughts wandered again.

Some may never put stock into her being the Virgin Goddess of the Hearth, but many knew her importance reigned supreme to even that of Zeus; she was older, wiser, knew more and didn’t covet power. She was everything the Gods wished Zeus could and would be. She had a more important role, however; a role she’d be pushed into regardless of her wants. Mediator. Unknown to her she’d be requested to sit in on some of the future Olympus Council meetings soon, and her head would throb with a headache she didn’t think would go away.

For now? She’d tend her Hearth and lend her ear.

For those who knew how to approach, she was a gentle and kind-spirited woman that took the form of an eight year old child; poking, prodding, stoking the Sacred Hearth of Olympus and keeping the Camp Half-Blood’s fire from going out.

She was also an ‘out’ from the arguments. No one would stop a frustrated Deity from escaping an argument by simply walking over and sitting next to her as she stoked her Hearth. She gave an aura of calm, of understanding, and when she prodded for answers as to why they were feeling that way, the Gods almost-always caved. She was empathetic, sympathetic, calm, kind, understanding.

She’d spoken to near every God and Goddess at least once or twice during her four-thousand years of existence, but not once has she entertained the same God or Goddess more than once a decade.

As the arguments continued, she spotted a figure walking over to her, and immediately knew her day was about to get interesting.

They rarely weren’t when Aphrodite was involved.

From fashion complaints to bawling about love-life issues and whining about her latest romantic ‘conquests’ not being as good as she thought, Aphrodite truly was narcissistic and vain. Yet it could not be denied that she had a large heart and had found no one to share it with. No one fulfilled her ‘itch’ so the speak, never a sufficient scratch more than a one-night stand that usually resulted in another Half-Blood. Or whatever thing she and Ares had going on, with Hephaestus in the background.

Hestia felt her heart go out to the scarred man, but like every other time she’d thought of his predicament there was nothing she could do.

“Hey Hestia.”

The Goddess in question dipped her head in greeting, a small welcoming smile gracing her perfectly symmetrical features. “Aphrodite, how are you?”

Aphrodite, in response, gained a small – if uneasy, Hestia noted with concern – smile. Her hands were roiling about each other, as waves in a storm were wont to do; Hestia found the answer as to ‘why’ the usually cheerful, upbeat and salacious Goddess would act like a child ready to receive a scolding.

She spotted something. Stupid, reckless, possibly insane, even. Stupid, reckless and possibly insane, even, that her new favourite mortal of the decade was doing – or about to do, Hestia wasn’t too sure. For all she knew it wouldn’t be something dumb or reckless that the human would do, and more of what is about to happen to the human in question.

Aphrodite knew Hestia would figure out the reason on her own, so instead she planted her backside down – smoothing down her dress in the process – and began staring into the fire in contemplative silence.

It was Hestia, surprisingly, that broke it. She never did, always waited for the other God to start things off so she could figure out a way to best verbally support them, but that wasn’t what Aphrodite needed; she once again thanked any and every thing within existence for Hestia’s patience and kindness.

“I think I know why you’re here today.”

Aphrodite nodded, and knew even if Hestia wasn’t facing her she’d see it. Her eyes were locked onto the fire of the Hearth, and she felt a peace wash over her tense form.

“Is it to do with the human you’ve taken an interest in?” It was said kindly, and Aphrodite knew it was, but her mouth reacted before her brain could stop it.

“Her _name_ is Elizabeth.” It wasn’t snarled out, but close. She couldn’t even will herself to apologise, but Hestia seemed to hear the unspoken apology anyway; it made her feel better when Hestia reached over with one hand, the over poking over the fire, and squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“I know,” Hestia replied, and Aphrodite could swear there was a warmth suffused in those words. “but when you come to me looking like a naughty child, well…”

“Yeah…” Aphrodite forced her body to relax, Hestia’s calming aura making it easier; if only just. “Yes, that’s a fair assessment to be honest.” Hestia just hummed, waiting for her to continue. “She’s the smartest human I’ve ever _seen_ Hestia! She’s already nearly mastered Hecate’s magic, and her cunning alone could get a position as a World Leader if she wanted. But I’m convinced her Fatal Flaw – if she even _has_ one – is that love for the Luna girl…so tragic…”

Hestia hummed again; Aphrodite did like to brag about her new favourite human quite a bit – more than she did about the other humans she’s picked as a favourite, in any rate. When she came to Hestia, however, she didn’t brag; she stated, as though what she was saying was to be taken as fact.

She also bemoaned the girl’s love life; how tragic it was, how bleak it was, how little of it there was in the future without direct intervention on her behalf. It bothered everyone when she spouted ‘nonsense’ as to why she wouldn’t intervene – most of the excuses never held water, but some would burn themselves into their skulls as some of the only genuine complaints about ‘powerlessness’ any God would ever make. _“She might not be a child of mine, but she may as well be.”_ Was one of them, and something of an issue; who was the girl’s Godly Parent?

The Big Three denied instantly, followed by the rets of the Twelve, and then one by one each God and Goddess denied any knowledge of her.

It was a vexing mystery, but not something completely abnormal, so they eventually let it go.

“So, what’s the issue?”

Aphrodite sulked. “She’s, well…Apollo came and told me some rather disturbing stuff...”

“Oh? A prophecy, or just peeking into the future?”

“A little bit of both, I think. Nothing from the Oracle, so I can’t be sure, but…” Aphrodite sighed, deep, and making her chest move in ways that would have distracted any other God – or Goddess, even. Hestia ignored it and tended her Hearth. “He says…”

“Yes? If you’re having trouble, why not just blurt it?” At her incredulous look, Hestia just smiled encouragingly. “It works for some of the others. Sometimes thinking does a little more damage when you want to say something.”

Aphrodite conceded to that point, straightened herself up, and pointedly declared thus: “Apollo says she’s going to die. During, or just after, the Great Prophecy.”

“Oh…well, I’m sure it’s not set in stone, if it was just a peek into the-”

“- _You’re_ involved in her death.” Aphrodite's face was harsh, an uncommon expression on her ever-changing face.

Hestia didn’t know what to make of that.


	5. Setting Up The Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title might suggest this chapter is just setting up the major plot pieces that will show up somewhere down the line in the story as it progresses. Sorry that it's so short, but I couldn't find a way to write it longer without just being an exposition dump.

“Hi, Luna…”

Upon the rock she sat rested a bottle of the finest Butterbeer she could scrounge up. A quick trip to Diagon Alley via Portkey and Apparation, and one too many promises of ‘The Ancient and Noble House of Potter visiting this store in the coming days’ saw to her needs.

Next to the bottle rested a small – shrunken by magic – record player, with what looked like vintage records hovering around it. If one had paid attention to the records, they would see a faint sheen of magic enveloping them; keeping them aloft and in position for when the user of said magic wished to play something different.

Right now, playing softly in the background as she stared at the moon, was some classical music; she can’t remember which one, she selected it randomly, but the name ‘Bach’ comes to mind, so perhaps a small collection of his finest works?

In her hand was a bottle of something a little heavier than Butterbeer; or, at least, the non-alcoholic variant she’d gotten for Luna. In her hand rested a 10% alcoholic content Butterbeer, complete with customary burning when drunk too fast, and topped off with that weird aftertaste only Luna had come to appreciate when it came to Butterbeer.

“I…I’m doing as I promised.” She took a sip of the drink in her hand, and grimaced when it went down; she never could get used to the taste. “I will force those poncey Gods down from their Ivory Tower to see the damage they cause.”

She took another sip, this time a little longer than the previous one. “I will make them see how destructive their little spats can be.”

Elizabeth sighed, looking from the moon to her bottle. “They need to stop fighting for your dream to come true.” Sighing deeply, she used her magic to make the bottle leave her hand and float off to the space next to the record player. “I promised you peace, Luna. Or I’ll die trying.”

Elizabeth stared deep at the moon. “I will give you the peace I promised, Luna. I’ll bring the world to its knees if I have to…”

She sighed again. “Perhaps on to other news?” The question was rhetorical, but she did it anyway – Luna did love her rhetoric. “I fear My Little Owl’s archery skills, beyond being passable at best, are a lost cause; to compensate, however, she seems to have picked up a profound sense of skill with the dagger.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see _that_ coming; but then again I think it may be due to her small stature. As she grows, she may come into archery again. Or perhaps even swordplay? With the way her mind runs a hundred miles a second she may even benefit from the dagger she’s favoured, but her being up close to someone for it be effective has me...uneasy.”

She waved over her bottle of Butterbeer and took a swig, before waving it off again. “My Little Eagle, on the other hand, is becoming somewhat of a headache; she is good with a sword and shield, she knows it, and yet she desires to best that Luke boy.” A soft sigh escaped her slightly parted lips in exasperation. “She’s a good head on her shoulders, but this self-imposed rivalry with Castellan is going to be the death of her, I swear. I’ve managed to drill self-importance above the ‘goal’ into her head at least, and she seems to have taken to my teachings quicker than even Annabeth.”

She waved her bottle over and took a swig of it once more, this time she didn’t dismiss it back. “That fool girl’s gone and gotten herself involved in a Quest though; she’ll be off, soon, and then when she returns it’s off to the Winter Solstice meeting up in Olympus.” Elizabeth sighed again. “At least she’ll have that Castellan boy there to help her wrangle the younger campers. Little Owl’s going to be there, too, so she’ll act as the brains.”

Elizabeth took a breath and looked at the moon again. “I’ll…Annabeth, when I first met her, brought up something interesting and…I think you’d like her.” She huffed out another breath with a curse of ‘why is this so hard?’ under it. “I’m…giving what Annabeth said some serious thought. What do you…well, her perhaps as a late birthday present, but-”

_The snakes in the grass whispered soothing words to her._

_The magic thrumming her veins held her close._

Elizabeth sighed. “I’ve got to go now, Luna.” She chuckled slightly. “It’s getting’ late, and you always did throw a fit if I didn’t get enough sleep.”

One last glance to the moon before Apparating back into her tent.

* * *

_“Little Wolf, bared fangs and chipped claws.”_

_“Whom…?”_

_“Tell me Little Wolf, why do you hunt? Why do you walk when others run? Why do you blunt your claws instead of sharpen them? Why do you prowl instead of leap?_

_Why do you flee instead of fight, Little Wolf?_

_Why do you hide instead of stand your ground, Little Wolf?_

_Why do you work in a pack instead of hunt on your own, Little Wolf?”_

_“A riddle? But curiously so, to be calling me ‘Little Wolf’.”_

_A chuckle, breathy and sounding as though in her ear. “Indeed, a clever Wolf. Sly, cunning, with brains to match your brawns.”_

_“Prithee, but who art thou?”_

_“You may know me as Basilisk, Little Wolf.”_

_In response she smiled, if even slightly. “And mine is, I suppose, ‘Little Wolf’. Though I would be remiss not to point out my height.”_

_“Ah, one of humour, dry as it is. And morals to match your age; unsullied, pure, good of heart and mind despite current company…” A hum of appreciation. “Yes, you will do well to offset the grim attitude of My Little Birds…”_

_“Oh? Pray, tell me of yourself. You, who hides behind honeyed words with poisoned daggers.” There was silence. “Tell me, Basilisk, to what end does my service accomplish?”_

_“…Witty, yes, with experience to match your age.” Silence, then: “Honesty it is, I suppose. Tell me, Little Wolf, why you are in service for a cause you only just believe in?”_

_“I serve with dignity and honour. If I must lose sight of the cause to save myself humiliation, then I will. I owe a debt of blood; one I cannot repay just by living.”_

_“…I see…so brave, such a prideful, loyal Little Wolf. Yet for your age and experience it is being wasted.”_

_“And do tell how you would use me better?”_

_“I would not.” Basilisk admitted freely. “I would not use you. I would guide, and let you live as you wanted.”_

_“And if that came to be in service of you?”_

_“It would not hurt, but I would not protest leaving my service.”_

_“…I would hear more of what you have planned for myself, lest thine curiosity in me vanish. I wish to know you first, as you wish to know me.”_

_“Wise, Little Wolf. You are wasted in the Hunt.” There was a sigh. “I believe honesty should serve better than misdirection.”_

_“Yes, I would only work for those who know others as well as themselves. The opposite is also true.”_

_“…I was not born in Surrey, England. Not really. But I was raised there, by two monsters…”_

* * *

“My Little Owl, I have news for you.”

“For me…? But I-”

Elizabeth hushed her with a gentle finger to her lips, and with the other hand gave her a letter. Sealed, but it’s clear Elizabeth already knows what it says. “Read, Little Owl…but know that the final decision is yours.”

The sound of an envelope being torn open was answer enough. Hiding behind her cup of endless tea, Elizabeth found herself nervous for the first time in recent memory.

Annabeth felt her eyes widen with each line they read.

* * *

She finally lay her head to rest on the pillow of her lavish Queen-sized bed, red covers both comfortable but heavy – something to keep her warm for the long, cold nights of the upcoming winter.

A new piece; an older one, wiser, a general in too many respects to simply be a pawn, but a King she could not be. She had freely admitted to being able to follow, but leading was outside her area of expertise. Elizabeth would retain the King piece as herself, for now, until the time came for a replacement.

A shame, Her Little Wolf was something else when her pride let her be.

Regardless, she’d found a Queen piece with tenacity and experience. A piece to help her other pieces train up and get ready. A General indeed, someone used to a sub-leadership role.

_She placed the Queen piece to the side of the King piece. Nowhere for it to go just yet._

Closing her eyes, she dreamt of Luna’s smile. Of her dream, fully realised. Of her touch, how she felt warming her cold heart.

She ignored the ominous rumbling in the distance; thunderclouds gathered overhead, rain smattering against the outside of her tent. The noise just served to lull her into a state of semi-conscious sleep.

Plans were being made, lives were uncoiling and unravelling, and Elizabeth began to doze off.

* * *

**“Well, well…what have we here? A planner, no doubt, with such a heavy heart too.”**

_“How odd it is to be on the receiving end of this.”_

**“I would imagine it is.”**

_“Tell me, why are we here, in this dreary hole in the ground?”_

**“I would have you as something more than you are. Something greater, and I can give you everything you’d ever want. If you join me.”**

_“Uninterested,”_ She huffed without hesitation. The being in the pit didn’t even flinch at it.

**“when you hear what I can give you, girl…you won’t be so uninterested.”**

_“Oh, do tell?”_ She was humouring him, clearly, and her tone and lack of interest proved that.

Somewhere in the distance, just outside her hearing, a crow cawed.

He grinned.

It was not a nice grin.


	6. Interlude 1: Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small interlude while i clean up and get ready to post some of the more lengthier chapters. I know this feels rushed, but in my defence Thalia was gonna have to disappear eventually for the story to progress.

The morning was sunny, and the brightness portended a long day of sunshine and the occasional white cloud. The clouds of the sky were, as usual, being their lazy selves and drifting along laxly, white waves on an ocean of clear blue. It was a far cry from the greys and blacks of British weather, and despite being in the US for quite some time now, nearing five years, Elizabeth could safely say she preferred the peaceful days. Rain, however, could be appreciated more than it was by the masses in her opinion – it fed the plants, cooled the hot air, and made sure to mingle the water of the floor and the water on her face together.

She was crying.

How long had it been since she’d last shed a proper tear, let alone cried? That night in her tent when she thought of Luna came to mind. But then again, she could say otherwise; that was reminiscence, and not something she was aware of until it was almost gone. A fleeting feeling of sorrow before overwhelming apathy took over.

This was deeper, akin to how she felt when holding her dying Luna in her arms. When holding her moon, so far from her bed in the sky, close to chest and wishing she’d never go. It was _agony_ , and one she’d never thought to feel again.

“I…”

Elizabeth, for the first time in memory, didn’t know what to say. How to express herself, how to show how she felt beyond ‘sad’. Sadness was a concept as foreign to her as happiness was, and yet in her years at Camp she’d felt both because of two people. Thalia and Annabeth. Her Owl and Eagle.

Annabeth was holding onto one of her arms, head buried in her side and clutching on like a scared child to its mother. Like a dehydrated man to water, she clutched Elizabeth tight and refused to let go – Elizabeth wouldn’t have made her let go, anyway, and anyone could see it. There was a bond there, deep and everlasting.

She’d made two of those in the time she’s been at Camp Half-Blood.

One was gone now.

 _A little piece of her was gone now_.

The morning was sunny but by the Gods did she wish it wasn’t. by everything and anything that would hear her did she wish the skies wept as she did, traced the tears from her face and mingled into the ground. The ground with roots spreading further and further throughout Camp, the ground soaking up blood and bile and the remains of-

“I…” Her mouth felt dry, lips cracked, but she could tell her eyes were still leaking. It was the most anyone in Camp had seen her emote since her arrival and it left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth that an event like this was what it took. They couldn’t fault her, though. “I…this-this shouldn’t have happened.”

_“Tell me Little Eagle…Why do you not fly?”_

A stupid question for stupid people to ask; how had she expected such a profound question to be answered so quickly, by a child no less? What a fool she was…then again…Annabeth had learned. If barely, but she’d _learned_. She’d known by the time she hit eleven – when she got that letter that changed their dynamic irreparably – why she did not glide as an owl was wont to do. She’d found her reason, her purpose, and she’d stuck to it with a zeal even Elizabeth herself hadn’t expected – and she _hadn’t_ expected it, she can tell anyone that with certainty. Annabeth, when her eleventh birthday had come and gone, was everything she could want in a child and more; dedicated, strong of heart, strong of mind, with a will of steel and a small but hardy mindset.

Knowledge was power, Elizabeth had known that since her Moon began to wane, but Annabeth had needed encouragement to figure that out, not discouragement. It set her heart at ease to know she’d done right by the child. By one child…how had she failed so badly with Thalia?

Annabeth, despite her slowing sobs and the head buried into her shoulder, barked out a harsh sounding laugh. Far harsher than any twelve-year-old had a right to make. Elizabeth almost winced at the noise but held firm. It was all she could do right now. “That Quest should never have happened!”

“No, I agree.”

Annabeth chuffed out a reply she couldn’t hear properly, but sounded like something she definitely didn’t _want_ to hear. Hearing Annabeth cuss was…not pleasant, mostly because she only did it when extremely annoyed, or extremely frustrated with something.

“Little Owl…” The sun beat down on her head, and she fought off a wince; the sun was much hotter here than in the UK, and even after nearly five years she hadn’t gotten used to it. “…Let’s go.”

 _‘You should have flown’_ , Her thoughts turned to the oak tree, and she hummed a sad tune as she looked at what she’d become. Elizabeth felt something else within her break at the sight, but Annabeth kept her grounded somehow. _‘I should have taught you how to fly…’_

Elizabeth locked eyes with the tree Thalia had become and turned around to head back to her tent.

Then it started raining, and after a second or two of consideration for the sudden rainstorm, Elizabeth turned to Annabeth. “Why don’t you go back to the tent, Little Owl?”

“Are…you gonna be okay, m- Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth, despite the situation, smiled slightly – she disregarded Annabeth’s slip. “Of course, my dear, but it appears that something will require my attention.” She shooed her off. “Go now, I’ll be back at the tent in a moment.”

* * *

Sally Jackson was having an okay day, all things considered. It was raining, pouring it down really, and she had no problems with that. The rain was beautiful and reminded her of that man that seduced her all those years ago…ah, what a time that was; he gave her Percy, and sure he couldn’t be around but really that was all that mattered to her.

“Run, Percy!”

“Come on! You can…you _have_ to make it through!”

 _Was_ being the operative word to be used here, for she was definitely not having an okay day right now. Not with a creature from one of her history books sprinting after them, or with her son shouting for her to pass an invisible barrier that wouldn’t allow normal humans through to the other side.

She loved Percy she really did, but honestly he was a bit of an idiot sometimes.

It made the wan smile she sent his way a little fonder than it was, and before Percy could react she turned on her heel, releasing his hand in the process, and looked her death in the eye. Or…the horns. Either way, she was resolute to let her boy pass into the Camp, and if it required her death for some god or other to leave him alone then so be it.

Above, she could have sworn she heard an owl hoot.

She was ready, prepared as she could be with her hands spread wide to shield her boy from…whatever may happen to her. To her surprise the Minotaur seemed to freeze mid-reach, and looked at something behind her.

“E-Elizabeth!?” Grover’s voice, she noted sounded, worried yet relieved at once.

“Hey! Who are – what are you doing!?”

There was a soft thump behind her as her boy, she assumes, hit the ground. “Sleep boy, I’ll take care of everything.” There was a shuffle. “Grover, get the boy to the medical tent; tell Annabeth to watch over him.”

There was a bleat and then distant footsteps.

“Well, well…Hades is rather naughty, is he not?” The voice seemed to be amused by something, like it hadn’t just invoked on of the Big Three’s names in the same sentence as ‘naughty’. It was British too, and Sally found that interesting enough to almost turn her head away from the Minotaur. “Poor Hades, chasing after children. Proving his brothers right, is he not?”

The Minotaur roared in anger, but found it was unable to move; two large shackles made of some purple ethereal energy locking its stumpy feet in place and forcing Pasiphae’s some to stare at the source of its interference.

“Now, you are after these fine people for some reason or other I care not to think of.” The voice sounded trained, but there was an edge to the politeness that made Sally, eyes locked with the Minotaur’s, wince. “I have had the most unpleasant day I’ve had in recent memory, and wished for time to grieve, but of course you wouldn’t allow that.”

There were steps, and she could almost hear the sound of gritted teeth. “Now, _Lord Hades_ , for I have no doubts you aren’t watching this…Tell me…” There was a crackle of energy, something Sally had never heard before. “… _Why do Bulls cry?_ ”

Then the Minotaur in front of Sally Jackson _imploded_ in a white light that left a faint roaring in her ears and a thump in her head. Sally fell unconscious seconds later, but not before she felt her body twist upon itself and heard the sound of her saviour-captor’s voice.

“You will have your hostage, for while I don’t know why I have no doubts that is what she is for.”

Reaching down, Elizabeth picked up the trophy dropped by the minotaur; a horn. “Hm, adequate recompense for the boy at the loss of his mother. One hopes he sees it that way.”

Amidst the raging storm above and the owl watching her every move, Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked back to the Camp with the horn tucked under an arm.

* * *

Hestia, stoking her Hearth, felt something...wrong. Something not-quite-right happening in Olympus.

Ignoring the worried looks from some of the Gods and Goddesses around her when the Hearth flickered slightly, Hestia gazed into the fires with an intensity not seen on her small face before. 

Then, she gasped. The world, she could see the world in her fires, and that was something she hadn't seen before since...since Prometheus gave humans fire, she thinks. She couldn't see the future as Apollo could but she could divine what she did see from the fires that acted as windows; burning people, dying children, scorched lands...the moon falling, the oceans receding, the air thinning. The fire raging throughout the lands.

Her fire. Fires of grief, rage, sorrow, anger and hatred and love...her flames, her hearth. Flames that scoured skin from bones and bone into ashes, flames that melted buildings and scorched fields...flames that mourned. 

Flames created by her own hand. 

The Hearth in Olympus, for all it still heated, _died_. 


	7. Opening The Gate I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best thing to do is start a little white lie that would later sprout into a large problem down the road. It makes it easier to burn bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, but COVID's been a pain and i've had trouble making this not too cheesy but still managing to get across what i wanted to show; This is one of the only planned chapters from Elizabeth's perspective, so forgive me if it seems slightly disjointed or all over the place - hopefully, a look into her thought processes and attitude should help people see why and how she acts the way she does.
> 
> All to alleviate crushing apathy, which of course will get touched on in much more detail - and a lengthier chapter - down the road. 
> 
> sorry this one was short, by the way, but i had to cut a lot from it to wave away the 'cheesiness' factor, and even more for sheer exposition reasons. 
> 
> hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

_A life is defined by its worth, or even how little worth it has in some cases, and cannot be defined by the purpose it has carried with it more than the weight of that purpose; meaning that a life cannot be measured by the purpose it has been driven towards, but instead measured by how that purpose affected the world._

_When Da Vinci passed and left the world, his life was measured after his death with the works and art he left behind. Pop culture arose behind his name, books and movies spawned from his deeds; his life carried with it a weight the rest of the world felt for ages afterwards. When Charles Darwin died his theory of evolution progressed everything humanity thought it knew about itself, leaving an indelible mark behind in everything from economics to science, medicine to poetry._

_When I die, what mark will I leave behind? What feature or scar will my choices burn into human history? Will I be a great, like Isaac Newton or Leonardo Da Vinci, dragging humanity into a golden age? Will I be a failure, the weight of my existence having done nothing but leave a stain that was wiped away soon after? What will become of the life I leave behind?_

_What will become of the_ people _I leave behind?_

_When great people die the world still turns, but it seems to turn ever slower for their passing. As though in mourning, a perpetual mourning that never ends. They are seen as monsters and heroes, good people and evil people, tyrants and liberators. The greats are known, however much or little they may be, throughout time and etched into books and stone murals._

_What kind of person will the world see me as? Liberator, freeing them from the shackles they didn’t even know they wore? Monster, destroyer of civilisation as they knew it? Tyrant, enforcing my own ideas upon their feeble minds and hammering away their resolution to stop me? Replacement, for the gods I plan to humiliate?_

_Will I even be remembered? Will my deeds be forgotten, lost to time’s unceasing trudge? Will I be etched into the very planet’s memory and never left behind?_

_Will I even like what I become?_

_Regardless, death will take me. This quest I have undertaken will take me when it ends – maybe even before that. What I am afterwards to the masses is of little consequence to me, but the people I leave behind, few as they are, may say otherwise._

_Will they love me, fear me, hate me? Idolise me, loathe me, be completely disinterested with me?_

_I don’t care, not right now. I might later on when I find more people to chase away the unceasing apathy, but right now I’m simply numb to it._

_I suppose all I care about is…what will Luna think of me, when I join her in the sky?_

* * *

I was being stared at.

Now, I will be the first to say that, besides my odd trips here and there into others’ minds for amusement, I am a rather private person. There’s nothing about me that screams ‘personable’ or ‘approachable’. Since my arrival I’ve been ignored by many of the Campers – with the exceptions being those of the Athena Cabin, of whom had some sort of like-dislike thing with me, and those of the Aphrodite Cabin, of whom acted as though I was a leader of some sort to be looked up to. It frightened me, to be honest, but unceasing apathy always won over.

Now, specifically, I was being stared at by _three_ Cabins; the Athena Cabin, eyeing me like some respected figure with vast knowledge – I would liken it to how that man Dumbledore commanded he be looked at just by existing, but my knowledge of his ‘power’ is greatly lacking considering I turned down his school and effectively spurned him. The second Cabin to look at me were, of course, the Aphrodite Cabin – eyes full of love of all sorts directed my way, but another thing I couldn’t place, something my lacking emotional ability would not cover. The last, to my surprise, were members of the Hecate Cabin – though perhaps I should not be surprised, considering Hecate is a Titan-Goddess that manages the Mist that shields mortals, and is basically a patron goddess of anything that could be construed as ‘magic’. Oh, how the Wizarding World would go apoplectic if the existence of Gods and Goddesses came to light.

It was a decidedly uncomfortable affair, you see, with me looking at them apathetically, with them looking at me with intense stares, and Annabeth next to me looking decidedly confused. I don’t blame her, to be honest – were it not for my lack of ability to care about such trivial things I would be confused, too, especially considering they approached and didn’t say a word. They haven’t spoken for nearly a full minute, now, members of the Aphrodite Cabin and Hecate Cabin squirming under my unflinching gaze…but the Aphrodite Cabin…

_“They see a sister but more in you, guided by my gentle whispers and tales of your story” lulled the doves, and I resisted the urge to shoot a ball of fire at them._

_“Heathens,” the snakes hissed; “They do not bow!” And something in me agreed._

While I could probably count my patience amongst myth and legend even I could feel it waning, but the side-glance from Annabeth told me she caught my frustration. Clever girl; the ability to see others’ emotional states and react accordingly was a gift she’d need to survive. To take her further than any before her.

Further than me. That was the plan anyway.

“Uh…can we help you?” Her tone implied annoyance but otherwise she was smooth – diplomatic, even. It brought to the forefront of my mind the freshly-scarred memory of staring at a tree for hours on end, questioning myself and my goals if all it was going to do was get the people I would come close to in the end killed. Divine intervention saved Thalia and made her a barrier, but even then she was not alive. My Eagle, locked away in a cage, forced to listen to canaries that were free chirping their happy songs.

Annabeth, heart bigger than anything I know, would be my focus now. If I am to fall at the end of this venture of mine so be it – I will ensure her survival.

_An owl in a tree hooted “You are more than I thought you were” and I glanced its way before scoffing._

A child of the Aphrodite Cabin approached, nervous but with a strange gleam in her eye when she looked at me – it was something I couldn’t put words to, an unknown. I never did like unknowns.

She stepped before Annabeth, and it was then I saw how old she truly was – she was about my Owl’s height, maybe two or three inches taller actually now that I got a good look, black hair that – were I a vain person – would make mine look like a cheap imitation, and blue eyes that seemed to reflect light quite easily. By far a beautiful girl, definitely one of Aphrodite’s, but there was something to her gaze that made me think she was more than beauty. This one would be one to keep an eye on.

“Hey, my name’s Silena.” She reached out and shook hands with Annabeth, but while she did so my eyes weren’t idle in watching them; I scanned her for anything that could harm Annabeth, anything that could damage or ail her in any way. Next I scanned her body, from eyes to her neck, drifting to her chest then waist, and finally her feet – was she wearing sandals? In this weather I would understand, but usually Aphrodite children had this conceitedness about them that forced them to look their best in any given time. Along with her pale-yellow t-shirt and her blue shorts she looked more like a grown-up version of my Little Owl than anything else. The hair and face, along with eyes, were all off but there was…definitely something in that style that just reminded me of something Annabeth would wear.

Yes, this one was no ordinary child of Aphrodite – too kind, too unconcerned with looks, but perhaps not completely unconcerned if the signs of makeup and religiously-applied hair conditioner were of any signal. I would need to compile a report on her and file it away. Maybe get Annabeth to do it? She hasn’t done one in a while.

I felt a hand on my forearm and had to hold back the urge to cast a close-range _expelliarmus_. The magic broiled beneath the surface as it always did, and I could see the Hecate children eye me even more now. I turned a head to see Annabeth – when had we moved a couple of paces from the main group? They were looking concerned. How long had I been in my own head? It only felt like moments. Have I gotten so slow?

“El…” We were alone, away from listening ears, so she dropped the pretences and clutched my forearm firmly. When did it start to cloud over? Something nagged at me – something was wrong. How long had I been in my head, staring at nothing?

“Mother!” That same hand on my forearm moved up and pressed against a cheek; my magic thrummed beneath the skin and warned me of something. Of what? What was happening? Perhaps just a sickness of some sort? “Mother, please, are you okay?”

My mouth felt dry; when had I last drank something? “I…” I considered lying to her. To Annabeth. I can’t, I can’t lie to her because she’s all I have that makes me feel something. All I have, now, that I can call family. She’s so very precious that I doubt she’ll even understand if I tried to explain it, but she’s so very precious to me. I can’t lie to her…but I can stop her from worrying herself to death. Half-truths always did make for excellent bedfellows for people like me, after all.

“I’m…not feeling very well, Little Owl.”

Annabeth’s eyes darted this way and that while I felt my mind do some sort of fuzzy-thing. Was I thinking slower, or was I just sleepy and as a result suffered lower mental faculties? I haven’t a clue, but it’s bothering me.

Oh, the poor girl, no doubt trying to find a way to help me. Too big a heart on this one, too big for the likes of me. Precious indeed.

My thoughts were jumping about, now, soon to spiral away as they did when I was researching magic to save…to save Luna.

Wait, where… “The infirmary?”

“I got you here as soon as I could, mother, but they’re saying they can’t find anything wrong with you and…and…” Oh, the girl was hyperventilating. “I-how do I help? What do I do!?”

Annabeth was sat next to me, and on the bed to my left I could feel a gaze – I knew it to be the Jackson boy. No doubt with questions. He’s of little import right now, however. All I need to do is assuage Annabeth’s fears.

“I’ve felt this before, a time ago.” At her teary but questioning gaze I persevered through the fuzzy feeling I could feel trying to claim me. “come now, use your head Little Owl.” It may have sounded harsh, but it stopped the girl from panicking and forced her to begin thinking clearly. Good, for a panicked child of Athena was a dead one. “One does not become as powerful as I with magic without some…issues arising.”

Not entirely untrue, of course, but the same could be said for how true that statement really was. For now, though, it seemed to soothe Annabeth’s fears.

“Oh…” She seemed mollified for now. “Is there _anything_ I can do?”

Ah, the drowsiness was back. “I need sleep, My Owl. Just ensure I am not awoken and it will clear up.” At her worried glance I patted her hand. “I will be fine tomorrow morning. I promise.”

The last sight I saw before sleep claimed me was a relieved look.

* * *

**_Your magic is failing you._ **

_“It is, I’m afraid_.” _Despite her words she did not sound very afraid, nor anything less than bland._

**_I can do more than slow your perception of time, girl._ **

_“So it was you. You’re rather clever at that.”_

**_And you’re good at lying to those closest to you._** _She was silent_. **_How long before your body fails? How long before your mission ends? How long before-_**

_“You talk a great deal, don’t you? Whilst I do dabble in mind-walking I keep things mildly entertaining. You just ramble.”_

**_Oh? And how are you going to deal with it?_ **

_“Like…”_

_She snapped her fingers, the same bland, empty tone from before belying a hint of amusement._

_“…This.”_

Elizabeth woke up in the infirmary the next morning with a pounding headache and a new target.

* * *

A cradle is a structure, or something resembling a structure, that would provide rest to the being or object placed inside it. It comforts and provides warmth, keeps alive and soft, and acts as a bed for those of a younger age. Even so, a being of older age may be placed in a ‘cradle’ of blankets on their deathbeds to provide them comfort.

Cradles can also be metaphorical, to describe a place or object that brings comfort to another – even, perhaps, without being the same as a literal cradle. A good example would be ‘home’, of which could be described as a person’s cradle, to which they may return to with little fear of attack or disruption to relaxation.

It can also be used as a description to hold something.

_Like how I cradled the moon as it died._

Percy Jackson was being cradled by the water he’d been injured in, and there was little else to say, but ‘of course’. Because _of course_ he’s Poseidon’s son. And _of course_ Poseidon broke the vow. Gods have this stupid need to impregnate every living woman, and honestly it’s rather stupid.

“This is not good.” Said Annabeth, and honestly I felt for her; this is far beyond the realm of good, and if those thunderclouds from a little bit ago were anything to go by this is going to get all the worse. The boy, a child of one of the Big Three, will most likely get sent on a Quest or some stupidly heroic task of some sort and inevitably save the world – either dying in the process, or gaining a large harem of willing wives because…Ancient Greece was weird like that. “This is _not_ good.”

“Annabeth, do remember that he has yet to be cl-”

And like Poseidon was watching down on this little affair – which he probably was, the sod – now became the perfect time for the trident of Poseidon to float above Percy’s head in a spectacularly gaudy fashion. Were all Gods and Goddesses such dramatic egotists? Perhaps not, I’ve not heard of Hestia or Artemis making such undignified shows of claiming, but then again they were virgin goddesses that swore off children and any form of penetrative sex. With that in mind I don’t really think it matters, and I can safely say that yes, all gods and goddesses are indeed egotistical – especially when it comes to their children. I suppose something interesting to note is Athena’s virginity, yet her ability – unique, maybe – to create ‘brainchildren’. Well, as Annabeth called it, anyway.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hm?” I turned to look behind me, the voice of a girl bringing my attention out of my head. “Ah, Silena, yes?”

“yeah, sorry we didn’t get to meet properly.” She was apologising for my medical issue, but I felt no need to correct her. Hardly any consequence of mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, perfectly. Just a fainting spell you see, comes and goes.” A lie that anyone versed in my mannerisms would see through, but this new girl wasn’t yet – to milk for profit before the udder is dry would yield most rewards. I noticed Annabeth looking at me form the corner of her eye, but said nothing else, nodding along. Such a clever girl. I felt something akin to pride bloom, though being unfamiliar with the feeling I could only guess – it made the most sense for it to be pride, though.

That look I’d noticed yesterday in Silena’s eyes made me think for sure that such a bold-faced lie did not go believed, but that just made her interesting. There was something wicked about this girl, her gaze was too sharp for a regular child of Aphrodite.

Before Silena could say anything more, I turned to Annabeth. “Little Owl, why don’t you go acquaint yourself with Silena?” She knew what I really wanted. This was a test – her ability to be covert in sensitive matters while not giving them away to anyone else but herself and those she trusted.

‘Spy on her, she’s special’.

Annabeth, the sweet thing, held her hesitation for a second to make herself look shy. “We, uh, we shook yesterday but I don’t think I introduced myself.” I turned back to look at the spectacle that was the other Campers kneeling to the Jackson child, my eyes rolling slightly. “Hi, I’m Annabeth Chase.”

There goes Chiron, bowing to a mortal, listing off the titles of his father and whatnot. If anything it seemed to make the boy’s head inflate with air. I could almost see his ego from here.

Unworthy titles for an unworthy man! Hissed the snakes, and I fought back the grin of agreement.

“-regard! It’s nice to meet you!” The jabber of the two went over my head as I half kept an eye on Silena and Annabeth, but it was nice to see Annabeth making friends – I could already see that she’d forgotten all about her ‘mission’ but that’s fine. It did something to my chest – I’m quite sure it’s ‘pride’ – to see her laughing and smiling with someone about her age. Better than that Jackson boy that’s for sure.

I could feel a sigh coming on but punched it down – appearances were everything after all, and I had made myself one as the collected, if aloof, scary Demigoddess. That was fine, it kept their noses out of my business. That Jackson boy, however, was owed an explanation or two.

Did I ever get around to giving him that Minotaur horn? I don’t think I did. I’ll do that later, for now I had to carefully but concisely explain to Annabeth why she couldn’t go to the Aphrodite Cabin to be ‘remodelled’.

Children were such hard work. I can see why Luna wanted them now.


	8. Opening The Gate II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out, but i had a lot of real life things going on. Hopefully this chapter will keep you all satiated enough for me to write the next one down. I know it's pretty short, but i couldn't think of a way to lengthen it without it being nothing but more filler. thankfully, after this, we'll be hitting the Quest proper.
> 
> To those sharp-eyed people who read this, you'll notice some characters have had their established attitudes changed slightly for this chapter; this is intentional. Do with that knowledge what you will ;)

_“Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing such notes as, warbled to the string, drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek...”_

_\- John Milton_

* * *

Elizabeth, as she was wont to do, reflected on the day that just ended and sipped a cup of Earl Grey tea; she was rather more partial to the heady tastes of Oolong, or the gentle bitterness of Japanese Green Tea, perhaps even the fragrant sharpness of Peppermint Tea. Oftentimes she’d found herself appreciating different flavours of different teas, and even more often she’d found herself wishing to have explored more than she did before she’d settled in the USA; so many different types of tea out there, so many to taste.

But she always found her way back to Earl Grey; after all, it was hard to go wrong with Earl Grey. It could be made with or without milk, brewed strong or soft, sweetened or left natural, but no matter what you did to it the core taste and steady fragrance would remain the same. The magical variant of Earl Grey was more bitter than its muggle counterpart, and so she’d found herself gravitating towards a good cup of muggle Earl Grey while staring into the distance and reflecting on her past.

You would wake up to find yourself short a leg or two should you suggest she was getting old. An Empress has her pride, after all.

But no, no one could go wrong with Earl Grey, and nothing could ruin the atmosphere in which she’d found herself.

Unlike earlier, with one Perseus Jackson – oh she has patience, enough to fill silos, but even the great Elizabeth Potter-Lovegood couldn’t wrap her head around the sheer stupidity that was Percy Jackson. The boy was…well, he was stupid. He was irredeemably, irrevocably, stupid. She may know a lot more descriptive words but even she finds it hard to process the level of idiocy and ignorance that boy operates off. There’s a certain point in which one should stop what they are doing, look at a situation, and bow out.

Elizabeth, therefore, washed her hands of Perseus Jackson and his stupid need to ask stupid questions and say stupid things and do stupid actions, and handed him over to the eager Annabeth. Oh, how her Little Owl was shaping to be a fine young girl, so smart and brave but not brave enough to rush in without at least six plans and a contingency of those plans. But she would do for the Jackson boy’s training, yes, and do it better than maybe even Elizabeth herself could; Annabeth possessed this unique ability that Elizabeth hadn’t had, and that was to ignore blatantly stupid people’s opinions and questions.

Elizabeth nodded to herself; yes, she’d trained Annabeth well indeed. The girl would survive whatever was to come of her actions in the future, whatever fallout shall occur from her machinations unfolding. She was sure of it, sure enough that Athena was pleased with her progress at least, sure enough that the doves – of which she was almost certain belonged to Aphrodite at his point – saw no need to interject.

Why else would Athena’s owl be staring at her from the branches of a nearby tree? Why else would a row of doves be side-eyeing the owl? Why else would her snakes be hissing from within their blades of grass? Why else would her magic raise its hackles?

She spared the owl a dismissive glance before focusing on the distance only she could see, sipping her tea.

The boy was a fool if he thought he could train himself up and storm the Underworld for his mother’s soul back. What would he do when he reached the chamber in which Hades rested? Beg him, perhaps strike a deal as Orpheus had done? Actually, why _did_ Hades want Perseus Jackson’s mother as a hostage, anyway? She’d put it out of her mind before, chalked it as unimportant, but a thought occurs.

Had Perseus Jackson somehow irritated the God of the Underworld and, well, how had he done such a thing?

That Jackson child was becoming rather fond of Annabeth, sticking by her side whenever he could and swearing up and down she could do no wrong. He was, in a word, infatuated, and it would be hilarious were it anyone else.

But that is _her_ Little Owl, the girl that called her ‘mother’ despite no blood relation and apathy on Elizabeth’s part. The girl saw Elizabeth as some surrogate, or perhaps even an ideal? A mother that should have been, instead of what she was born from? Elizabeth shrugged the thought off and sipped her tea some more, apathy stomping down this strange bubbling feeling in the pit of her gut that felt both warm and cold. Annabeth was a means to surpass her, nothing more and nothing less.

_“Denying it doesn’t change anything~” cooed the doves, and she resisted the urge to scowl._

_“Silence,” she hissed back, “She’s a girl yet to come into her own. I am no mother of hers…but I am not so cruel as to deny her the wish to call me as such.”_

_“So you say,” chimed the owl, “but that letter of adoption says otherwise.”_

_“So it does!” the doves released a cackling noise that should have grated on her ears, but sounded oddly pleasant. “Annabeth Chase Potter-Lovegood is a mouthful, don’t you think?”_

_“Enough, pests.”_

_The owl continued, unperturbed by the coldness in Elizabeth’s voice. “I wonder, though, how you’ll manage.”_

_“Single parents rarely manage without issues, after all~”_

Elizabeth had no answer for their inquiries, the snakes were oddly silent, and she’d run out of tea. This was a spiral from which she’d never leave, so to avoid such a fate her mind once again turned to the stupidity incarnate that is Percy Jackson – though perhaps she was being harsh to the boy. He had, after all, just lost his mother, and according to the Satyr Grover was riddled with ADHD. As most demigods were, apparently, which is odd because neither her nor Annabeth have exhibited signs of ADHD – and yes, despite her muted annoyance at such a matter, she most definitely was a demigoddess.

She sighed and looked at the blue sky being threatened by enclosing grey clouds; such a cloud movement was most definitely the work of the gods – perhaps Zeus was having a hissy fit about something or other? Perhaps Perseus Jackson’s relatively recent claiming by Poseidon had something to do with it. Did she ever get around to giving him the minotaur horn?

Then, just as she contemplated getting answers to her questions – mostly involving interrogating the Jackson child on what he may have done to annoy one of the Big Three – a snake rattled in the grass to her left.

_“The Owl approaches,” it hissed, the others around it letting out agreeing sounds and noises of acceptance._

Elizabeth just put her empty cup down next to her seat and stood, turning just in time to see Annabeth skid to a stop; Elizabeth resisted the urge to narrow her eyes in suspicion, because she’d trained her Owl better than this. Getting tired after running from one end of the camp to the other? She’d trained her to do laps around it! something had run her ragged.

Elizabeth’s hackles lowered, however, when she saw the girl’s eyes search their surroundings briefly before locking with her own; good. She would not be caught unawares at least. “Mother, uh, I have something important.” Elizabeth waved a hand and a chair materialised behind Annabeth, the thankful girl forgetting manners briefly and flopping down into the chair. Elizabeth stayed standing.

“Something to tell me, Little Owl?”

“Percy’s been put on a Quest!”

_‘Since when did it go from ‘Seaweed Brain’ to ‘Percy’?’_

“Oh? Whatever for?”

Annabeth shifted uneasily at the curious gaze in her mother’s eyes. “Well, uh…apparently Lord Zeus’ Lightning Bolt went missing.”

Had she any tea left she’d have spat it out and began choking. It was all she could do to keep her face neutral but vaguely interested. Zeus’ Master Bolt had, what, grown legs and run away from him? Obviously not, but unless it was stolen-

She froze. It clicked as to why Perseus was given the Quest, now, and it made something in her feel cold.

“Annabeth,” her voice drawled out, slow and intentional, “Does Zeus believe Perseus Jackson to have stolen the Bolt?”

Annabeth nodded her head. “Yeah, he’s, uh, issued a Quest to bring it back to him before the next meeting up at Olympus. The Summer Solstice.” It went unsaid that Jackson would only get about ten days to do such a thing.

Elizabeth hummed, mind trying to piece together just why Annabeth seemed so clued in; she’d been trained to ferret out information, of course, but this just seemed like something that should be classified in some way or another to avoid panic amongst the population of demigods.

“Are there suspects other than the Jackson boy?” _‘I do believe I may go slightly murderous if you are considered one of them’._

The girl seemed taken aback by Elizabeth’s unusually intense look. “U-Um, Chiron thinks Lord Hades stole it.”

Elizabeth didn’t even grace that with a comment; how so like the Olympians to point blame at each other instead of dealing with the issue in a straight forwarded manner. How so very like everyone to see the Lord of the Underworld as the bad guy, when they forget the ‘good’ gods and goddesses have done worse for pettier reasons.

“There are usually only three people to a Quest, Little Owl.” Elizabeth had this sinking feeling in her gut when her mind sped to conclusions. “Do tell, who is Perseus bringing with him?”

Annabeth’s eyes lit up and that sinking feeling got stronger. “Grover Underwood, the Satyr.”

Elizabeth looked at Annabeth practically vibrating in her chair. She felt sick with the words spilling out, but she needed closure.

“And the other?”

Annabeth’s beaming smile alone was answer for her.

* * *

Hestia prodded the fire within Camp Half-Blood and ignored the curious stares she received. The older ones just nodded her way, thinking her some fire spirit or other sent to keep the camp warm and dry. The younger ones whispered and pointed, one particularly new one exclaiming how a ‘child should not tend a fire like that’.

Nothing new about this, though the last one did get a slight giggle out of her; then again it was her own fault, after all. She was currently in her nine-year-old child appearance, poking a worryingly long stick into the rather large fire at the centre of the camp. Any responsible adult would balk at such a sight.

There was always commotion here, too, but nothing like on Olympus. Up there it was ‘look at the newest child I’ve created’ or ‘look at the many females I’ve bedded’. But here? Here it was a lot more domestic, human. A lot more mortal. ‘look at the food they have here’ and ‘I wonder what I’ll do after high school’. The humans here provided her a well-needed breath of freshened air, a new outlook.

Olympus was stuck in the past and juddering along with its own schedule of when things new and current should be employed; these humans, on the other hand, embraced forward thinking, new ideas and had a healthy outlook on family matters, friendships, and even romance.

On Olympus romances barely lasted long enough for a child to be born and then they went back to being short acquaintances – one of the many reasons both she and Artemis decided virginity was a route best taken to avoid the fate of many other goddesses. Here? Down here people thought with their entire lives ahead of them; when a boy freshly in love met the girl he just somehow knew he’d be proposing marriage to, when a girl sang the praises of a boy she just knew she’d be having children for, when a couple gave innocently chaste kisses and longing looks – it was all so new and less choking than on Olympus.

Hestia loved these humans for it, but she’d never felt true love. Never wanted to settle down with anyone – god or human, it didn’t matter – and never wanted to have children. She had enough trouble mothering the entirety of Olympus, thank you very much. She was fine being single, being dependable, being the goddess everyone knew would never do anything to harm them.

But sometimes…sometimes she felt that fabled yearning. That feeling for something she’s never had before, and it ached in her chest sometimes.

“Ah, Elizabeth!” Chiron’s loud voice interrupted her thoughts and brought her dwindled attention from the fire she stoked to the centaur. His face seemed to be an odd mixture of gleeful and nervous, and had Hestia not known the centaur better she would have attributed this to Chiron playing a prank and being found out. he looked ever so much the part of a boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar, so to speak. “It’s been a while since we last spoke! How have you been?”

Hestia took in the stoic form of the woman standing in front of him, and despite attempts to ignore it, her mind filtered through the conversations she’s had with Aphrodite about her newest…fascination. Cold, sharp, intelligent, but beneath that layer was a soft woman mourning the loss of something held dear. Hestia eyed the woman up and down and couldn’t help but agree with Aphrodite; she hid it well, but even Chiron could see it. that sorrowful nature laying beneath the surface of her hard, stony self.

Hestia turned more attention to the pair.

“Chiron,” she greeted, “I would very much like to know why you thought it a good idea to allow Annabeth to join this foolish Quest.”

Hestia almost shivered at the frigidity she could feel in that tone, but there was a protectiveness there. For this ‘Annabeth’ girl?

To the trainer’s credit he didn’t flinch or groan, but frowned and lost his cheerful tune for a much more grave one. “The person given the Quest, Percy Jackson, was given the choice of two others to accompany him.”

“I am _aware_.” Even Chiron flinched at how sharp that tone was. “What I am unaware of is why, exactly, you thought it prudent to allow a boy not even cusping adulthood to make a decision that would drag a _literal child_ onto a dangerous Quest.” At his silent look, she continued. “People have been known to _die_ on Quests.”

Chiron’s retort was frustrated and biting, Hestia stoking the fires and listening with her ears instead of watching; she needed to focus. “She is part of Jackson’s Prophecy, Elizabeth.” There was a silence at that. “Not even I can overturn the Oracle’s Prophecy.”

“She’s a child, Chiron!” He almost paused at the raw…something in her voice. It sounded lost. Afraid. Yet her face was still stony, and her hands were still open, her form didn’t shake and her shoulders were set. How curious. He wonders if she even noticed the tonal change or not. “This is a fool’s errand to lay on the back of a little girl!”

“I know!”

“Then let Jackson take someone. Anyone else will do!” He watched in amazement as her jaw quivered briefly. “Anyone at all! Just not _her_!”

He knew she was upset…but he was frustrated. At himself. At Olympus. At this scenario which could easily be avoided if he’d just done…something! Pled with Zeus, maybe? Put on a show of Annabeth not being ready? Then there was this brewing war if Zeus were not given the Lightning Bolt back. How he thought the boy Jackson was capable of it was…questionable, and that was being generous. But he had responsibility for these campers heaped on him, expectations to train the Jackson boy into the next Perseus, duty to train and mould the campers into heroes worthy of song and legend…

He let the anger and frustration get to him, his face shifting into a scowl but enough self-control remained to keep the low simmer of his anger from being a boiling-over mess. He’d rather not shout or raise his voice at a girl worried for the safety of a child. Even in his angry state he recognised that.

But…but he was just so damned _angry_.

“Why do you care!?” She closed her mouth and squared her shoulders, cold green eyes locking with his. “Why do you care for her this much? You’ve been cold to the campers, you’ve never spoken more than few words with anyone here! You frighten the newcomers with harsh words and you never join the camp in Capture the Flag…so why do you care?”

She looked to hold something back, swallowing it down and keeping it in her stomach instead of her throat. Her face shifted from its surprised stoniness to a stoic look of boredom, but her voice was anything but. She sounded…biting. “The reason is hardly any business of yours, centaur.”

She watched in bland bemusement as Chiron bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something.

“I _will_ be going on that Quest with them, Chiron.”

He looked genuinely upset now, his face shifting into a mixture of anger and horror. “No, you can’t!” She lifted an eyebrow and the trainer continued, sounding slightly hysterical. “I could give you a litany of reasons, Elizabeth, on why that is a monumentally _stupid_ idea; but this one would be best suited for you to hear…the prophecy specifically mentioned only those three. No more, no less.”

She stayed resolute, ignoring his continued tirade of ‘consequences’ to defying prophecies like this. She sighed and interrupted him. “I’m going on that Quest Chiron, and any issues the Olympians have will not be taken out on them. I promise you that.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and left without another word.

Hestia watched curiously as the woman slumped in position, locking eyes with the roaring fire; did she glance over the small child present for that conversation? Or did she just ignore her?

“Did I do the right thing?” After a second the woman almost seemed to shrink in on herself, and Hestia found she’d rather not see that look of hopelessness on the face of one so strong. Just seconds ago she’d stared down the trainer of heroes and defied him. Where did this weakness come from?

“Well did I, Hestia?”

The goddess masquerading as a child jumped slightly and turned wide eyes to the woman staring at her.

“Did I do the right thing?”

“I think,” Hestia started, testing the words, “you wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Would you?”

“No.” The woman looked back at the fire. “No, I would do much more.”

“Why does she mean so much to you?” Hestia wanted to admonish herself for that blurt, but held fast with a curious look instead.

Elizabeth spun on a heel and left. Hestia found the short exchange to only leave her with more questions than answers about the enigmatic woman.

* * *

Elizabeth slunk back to the tent and took a second to compose her features, before her ears caught the sound of rustled movements from inside. It would seem Annabeth had not waited for her to return and instead slithered into her own bed.

Without adieu she entered the tent, footsteps quiet and soft, but somehow the Owl had taken notice all the same. Before she could say anything, Elizabeth sat at the foot of her bed and investigated a sight only the older woman could see.

“You have a long Quest ahead of you, Little Owl.”

Annabeth released a yawn, but still sat up in her bed and looked at Elizabeth attentively. “You’ll see me off, right?” When Elizabeth grew quiet again, Annabeth took stock of the situation, to so speak, and stuttered out. “I-I mean, I won’t be long! It’ll be easy-peasy, I’ll be back before you even notice!”

“You won’t ‘be back’ from anywhere, Little Owl. I won’t be seeing you off, either.”

“W-What!? But-but-”

“I won’t be missing you...” At Annabeth’s confused and scared look, Elizabeth rested a hand on the giro’s head and ruffled, an incredibly rare half-smile coming to rest at her otherwise blank face. “…because I’ll be going with you.”

As Annabeth took time to process that, Elizabeth lifted herself from the bed and made her way over to the other side of the tent, where her own double bed rested.

It took the same amount of time it took for her to clean herself up and dress in a silken pair of pyjamas, put out the light and slink into her own bed before Annabeth shook herself out of her thoughts.

“Y-You mean…you’re coming with me!?”

In lieu of an answer Elizabeth just closed her eyes. “Sleep well Little Owl. We have a long Quest ahead of us.”

Elizabeth tried so very hard to ignore the happy little noises coming from Annabeth as she willed herself to sleep.


	9. Opening The Gate III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending for this was rushed a bit but i wanted to get it out quickly so we can move on to the Quest. some of you might notice that the beginning of the Quest, setting up and off for it, and things like that, are changed slightly
> 
> this is intentional. 
> 
> the reason? Elizabeth's very presence, of course! the only thing you need to ask yourself is this; what else has just being there changed for our fearsome foursome?

_That promise you made, when Luna passed, I wonder…do you remember it?_

_Do you remember as the heavens rumbled, a vow kept to the world itself?_

_Do you remember as the ground wept?_

_Do you remember as your very soul crumbled to dust?_

_Do you remember any of it, or are you chasing someone else’s dream?_

_What will you do, daughter mine, when you fail your promise?_

_Whatever happens…you shall rest in my bosom once more. Whether dead or alive is another matter entirely…but I would prefer alive over dead._

_What parent would wish their child dead, after all?_

_Hm…perhaps a gift…? I have not Claimed you, cannot until Zeus removes his eyes from your being, but I can help you. As a parent should._

* * *

Waking up that morning proved a lot harder than it had any right to be, a struggle that remained monumentally challenging in multiple ways that left her more exhausted just getting out of bed than she had been the night before climbing into it. she felt more tired than she’d ever felt, actually, an exhaustion that rested bone-deep and cut hard into her otherwise apathetic mien.

Getting out of bed almost left her wishing she just never opened her eyes at all, the entire ordeal leaving her feeling like a coma patient waking up after thirty years and going through physical therapy the same day she woke up.

Instead of collapsing, gurgling out her woes for the snakes and the doves to hear, she sighed. The sigh was deep, weary, and hinted at the sheer exhaustion she was feeling. She ran a hand down her face and smoothed out the wrinkles in her otherwise perfectly pressed pyjamas.

“M’rn’n.”

Elizabeth turned around, face smooth and otherwise implacable as usual. Annabeth was just crawling out of her own bed, nightgown ruffled and sleep crusting the edges of her eyes. Evidently the girl noticed, rubbing her eyes and yawning in a way almost forced a twitch to Elizabeth’s lips. “Good morning, Annabeth.”

Annabeth gave a sleepy yawn – Elizabeth really was trying to keep her face placid, now – and finished crawling out of her bed, still wiping her eyes with one hand while walking over to the dresser near the front of the tent. Unfortunately, Elizabeth hadn’t figured out how to use magic to get a working plumbing system in her tent, so once dressed it was up to them to head to the restroom building.

With a snap of her fingers and a pulse of magic, Elizabeth had changed her pyjamas into her usual outfit; that of a Victorian-esque dress that reached her ankles, a pair of dark green flats, and a pair of white silk dress gloves. After a thought, however, she decided to forgo the dress in favour of something sturdier for the road ahead; a white dress shirt with the top button undone, a pair of black slacks, and her green flats replaced with a pair of black ankle boots. After another second of thought Elizabeth decided to tie her waist-length black hair into something more manageable; a simple ponytail, but effective in keeping hairs out of her eyes and with a lesser chance of it being grabbed in a fight.

Besides her, appearing with but a thought, was her suitcase. Charmed to be much larger on the inside, of course, because what self-respecting with or wizard would ever go through the trouble of having to think about packing something when they could just pack everything? With a wave of her hand the suitcase popped open, and before Annabeth’s curious eyes the entirety of the tent’s contents began shrinking and flying towards the open suitcase, fitting in at an impossible rate, and the logical side of her kept whispering just how impossible this was.

She ignored it in favour of getting dressed.

“I shall grab some food, Little Owl.” Elizabeth snapped her fingers and the suitcase shrunk to fit in her slacks’ side pocket. The woman turned on a heel and made to exit the now-empty tent, but before she did she reached her head to the side. “Be as prepared as you can be, Little Owl. We have a long trip ahead of us.” She side-eyed the table next to where her bed used to be, the chessboard packed neatly in her suitcase. “I have a feeling it will be quite the eventful one, too.”

“Okay! I’ll see you at the breakfast table, then.”

Without a word, Elizabeth walked out, feet leading her to the numerous amounts of campers already milling about the training grounds.

She’d lied to Annabeth, a harmless one but still a lie, and something in her sunk as she realised it. but this was necessary, and she could only hope Annabeth forgave her. She would, of course, and Elizabeth wanted to smack herself upside the head for thinking it would be any other way, but…well, Annabeth was someone she’d allowed close, let in so to speak. Not fully, never fully, but enough to show some weakness to her. Annabeth’s opinion meant more than even she, herself, could comprehend.

“Jackson!”

The boy in question jumped, the training sword in his hands almost flying out had he not clenched his fists at the last second. She roamed her eyes over his form briefly, resisting the urge to scowl at what she saw; he was thin, small, but not underfed as Annabeth had been when she’d first arrived. He was training, sure, but from her estimation he’d only been training for half an hour against an unmoving target, and while she could see the beginnings of muscle memory and skill in him, it was far too nascent, too underutilised. The boy had potential, and should that potential be cultivated he would undoubtedly become a great warrior.

Why was it only her that could see this?

Her eyes swept the training ground to see everyone else paired up and clashing sword, dodging attacks, sparring with fists. Why was Jackson left alone? She turned her cold gaze back to the boy, his seaweed eyes looking at her curiously.

“Why are you training alone?” He opened his mouth to answer but she clacked it shut with a hand. “It was rhetorical, Jackson.” Her eyes glanced around the area, taking in how people shied away from not just her but the son of Poseidon, too. “I think I know why…”

He removed her gloved hand from his mouth with a huff. “You could at _least_ call me by my name, you know?”

“But I am, Jackson.”

He scowled. “My first name!”

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow, ignoring his petulant behaviour for the time being. “I will when you deserve it.” At his scowling face she sighed. It wouldn’t do to aggravate one of her fellow Quest-goers. Wait, did Jackson even know she was going with him? A thought for another time, she supposed. “Listen, would you rather I call you Jackson, or treat you as Mr D. does?”

His face, after a second of thought, dipped from a scowl to a grimace, and he turned back to the dummy while trying – and failing – to hide his ailing looks. “N-No, thanks. Jackson’s fine.” He took his stance and swung the sword at the practice dummy, Elizabeth’s gaze burning into the back of his skull as he continued his practice.

“Don’t lock your knees like that.”

He swung and missed the dummy, turning his head curiously. “W-What?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, her gloved hands pointing down to his bent knees that looked a second away from shaking. “Don’t lock your knees like that. You’re liable to fall over if your opponent even so much as shoves you. Doing so is good if you’re using a shield, but you’re not, so don’t.”

She watched as he huffed, but a second later bowed his head in defeat and shuffled his stance. His knees no longer looked as rigid, but his grip had tightened to compensate. For what? She had no idea, but a few guesses were in the works.

“Loosen your grip on the sword.”

“But…but if it’s loose, won’t it be easier to disarm me?”

She had to give him that one. The boy knew vaguely, what he was doing. That was something, at least.

“Yes, but at the same time with your grip loosened the sword becomes easier to manoeuvre.” At his curious look she gestured to his hand holding the sword; she thinks it’s supposed to be a Gladius, or maybe a Xiphos, but to be honest she’s only ever really good at recognising European swords. The Potter Vaults had many European swords and she’d been required to take tests just to have the right to take them out, so it only made sense that she’d know nothing beyond European swords and the basics of Japanese weaponry and Egyptian armaments.

Turns out the Potters were a well-travelled people. Evidently, she’d need to go back and search the Potter Vaults again sometimes soon, because surely they would have passed Greece of Italy on their way to Egypt? She pointedly ignored the possibility of the Lovegood Vault having some sort of answers. And besides it’s highly doubtful Elizabeth would find the time to travel back to Britain – not that she wanted to. She may have ignored Voldemort and snuffed Dumbledore’s attempts at dragging her into their war, but she’s quite sure both sides would feel animosity towards her for even setting foot near the British Isles, let alone entering them again.

A thought for later, she supposes. Right now, she has an errant fool with a pension for talking back to his superiors to deal with. She’d best do something about that before the boy irritates or annoys some of the other gods at Olympus with his foolish ways.

First came teaching him how to survive long enough for that to become a problem.

“Try to perform a figure-eight movement with the sword the way it is now.” She watched as he performed it, but it looked sloppy and, undoubtedly to the boy, felt off and strange. His quick grimace proved her to be right. “Now loosen your grip ever-so-slightly and try again.” He did as told, more out of curiosity than obedience, and almost seemed to marvel at how easy it was, how smooth the movement was.

As he went back to swinging at the dummy with her brief lessons in mind, Elizabeth came to understand just how much of a quick learner the boy truly was. To anyone he would be the perfect student; willing to change outlooks, open to new ideas, adaptable. He was basically, at this point in time, a sponge ready to soak in any new information.

He was anyone looking to take on an apprentice’s dream come true…so why, again, was he training alone?

She looked around briefly for Chiron, or one of the senior Campers, to come check on the boy to see if he needed help; the centaur was some ways away helping a girl – Silena, if she remembers correctly – shoot her bow at a target. The senior campers seemed to just be ignoring Jackson completely, and she had to question just why the boy was, in essence, being ostracised.

This…was a travesty. Couldn’t someone see just how much sheer potential the boy had in him? Perhaps Annabeth could, and that was why they were so friendly with each other?

No one else was looking their way, not once, and the boy was lapsing back into the habits she’d just told him not to use; locking his knees, tightening his grip.

“Jackson, you have a Quest in an hour.”

“Y-Yeah? So?”

She lifted an eyebrow and sighed. “‘So’, Jackson, I am taking it upon myself to teach you how to survive before then.”

“Wait, what…?” He huffed, anger visible in his features when he swung his sword at the dummy and almost missed completely. “What do you care!?” He swung again, the sword shooting from his rigid grip and landing some ways off. He didn’t seem to care, spinning about to face him. Had Elizabeth not been expecting it his anger would have surprised her. “I can’t…can’t affords to just-just…” She watched as he flailed his arms around, angered face warring with inner confusion to bring the words he wanted to say to the surface.

“You want to get your mother back.” Percy looked at her in angered surprise; he needed to learn that the world wasn’t out to get him. Better people than he has suffered, after all…but that is not a lesson she can impart upon him. He would need to learn himself that the world does not care if you’re angry or not.

Elizabeth eyed the sword he’d accidently thrown, walking towards it while Jackson watched her. “You’re angry at the world for taking your mother away. Angry at the gods for not intervening.” She kneeled and grabbed his sword, throwing it up and down a few times to test its balance before huffing in satisfaction – it would do. She turned back around, training sword in hand, and began walking back to the son of Poseidon. “You’re angry at me, too, for allowing your mother to get taken.”

“I-I-I just-!”

She pressed the wooden sword into his hands, her face still blank but her voice softer than it usually would be. The sound of it made him flinch for some reason. “you want to fight for your mother’s soul, you want her back, you want to be strong enough to do that.” She closed her hands over his, stilling the angered shaking. “You asked ‘what do I care’? I will not lie to you Jackson, I don’t.”

“What!?”

“I don’t care for you or your struggle, or anything about Olympus and its struggles, or anything about your mother and her struggles.”

“Bu-”

She pressed a gloved hand to his mouth to stop him from interrupting her. “All I care about it whether or not your lack of training lets you _succeed_. Because as much as I may not act like it, the world ending due to the petty power plays on Olympus would upset me greatly.”

She let go of his mouth and took a few steps back, ready to see what he’d do. She half expected him to lash out – he was an angry boy, after all, and she’d be willing to allow him to attempt to take his anger out on her. She also expected him to fall, bemoaning his lot in life and crying; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen a child break down from the stress the uncaring world heaped on their shoulders. She, herself, had many breakdowns before pulling herself together and meeting Annabeth.

He surprised her, truly, when he walked past her and took his stance before the dummy.

“So…uh, loosen my grip?”

Elizabeth felt something well in her and crushed it down, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth wouldn’t leave her until they set out on their Quest.

“Don’t lock your knees; you’ll be a stiff breeze away from an open target.”

* * *

She’d found herself teaching Jackson for little more than fifteen minutes before the snakes whispered that the Owl was headed towards the ‘cafeteria’ area, and that she had a little under five minutes to get there. Evidently, her snakes had forgotten she could apparate and get there within the blink of an eye.

She arrived with four minutes to spare and helped herself to what looked like pancakes; while not a fan of the greasier foods the Americans had created, and even less so the muggle foods, Elizabeth could give them this; they knew how to make interesting breakfast foods. Two pancakes, what she thinks is maple syrup, a breakfast waffle next to it and a glass of water to wash it down. She was not going to trust that miracle drink the other demigods seemed to chug down – changing its taste to suit your deepest desire for a favoured drink? She is a witch, and magical things like that wouldn’t bother her usually…except it _wasn’t magic_. She had no idea what it was or what it really did, and for that she’d found reason enough to ignore it completely.

She sighed, using a knife to cut a pancake into a tenth of its usual size and slotting the piece onto her fork; not exactly dripping with syrup, but maybe next time she’d ask for less. She shrugged and plopped it into her mouth, chewing liberally.

She caught the sound of hurried footsteps and turned to see Annabeth headed her way. Her eyebrow lifted when she spotted Jackson right behind her, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was right now.

“Hey, look who I found!”

Annabeth was beaming wide, toothy and proud with herself, seating herself directly to Elizabeth’s left and taking up a…rather unhealthy number of pancakes. She would have to talk to her about that later, but first…

“Sit, Jackson.” She took another forkful of pancakes and chewed them slowly, noticing he wasn’t hastening to sit down anytime soon. She swallowed and scowled in his direction. “Sit. We’re on a Quest together after all, so strategizing and building familiarity wouldn’t hurt.”

It was just as the boy seated himself a little distance from her, shocked at what she’d just said, when Grover Underwood came zipping over. “Percy! Man, you are difficult to find when you want to be, huh?”

Percy’s sulking face seemed to lift into a half-smile. “Hey Grove…” The half-goat sat next to him and chewed what looked like…a metal can? That can’t be good for his teeth, but who is she to judge?

_“The Empress!” Wheezed the snakes, and it took some effort to keep her face genial._

_“A true leader, I can see.” The owl butted in, eyeing her subservient magic with disdain._

_“Oh, she’s going to be such a…oh, what is the word they use nowadays…ah! A maneater!”_

_The owl looked like it was physically pained. “No I don’t think so, but I believe that term would apply to you more than anyone else. Even if you had used that term correctly, I doubt Elizabeth would fit the bill.”_

_The doves seemed to sulk in tandem. “Oh. What would you call her, then?”_

_The owl locked its beady eyes with her and huffed. “Necessary. And perhaps threatening. Dangerous. Violent.”_

_The doves puffed and the larger snakes eyed the owl with disdain, her magic thrummed in her veins and begged to be released. Elizabeth just eyed the owl speculatively._

_The owl finished its train of thought. “And…perhaps, one day…worthy.”_

She tuned the owl and the doves out, eyes flickering down to Annabeth, watching her eat with gusto. Her eyes flicked over to Percy, watching him and Grover scoot closer to the pair while they made small talk.

It was…interesting. Regardless they all finished their food and made sure to present the leftovers as an offering to the gods of their choosing. Percy, as he was wont to do, made the offering to Poseidon and Annabeth to Athena. She felt a twist in her stomach at that when she realised her Little Owl was still praying to her ‘birth’ mother. She stomped it down and watched in idle amusement as Grover made his offering to, presumably, Pan. She couldn’t tell because his mouth was full of cans and he was crunching rather loudly.

Elizabeth eyed her leftovers and, in the spirit of going on her first Quest, decided to perform her first offering; she’d always finished the food beforehand or never felt the need to pray to some gods she doesn’t know or believe in, but…

She threw a lump of pancakes onto the fire and hushed out “Hestia. For your company yesterday.”

She gathered up a large amount of breakfast sausages and threw them in. “Aphrodite and Athena.”

…she dipped her plate into the fire almost reverently, slower, with hesitance. “To…to Artemis. For watching over Luna.”

She straightened her back, placed the empty plate to her side, and walked over to the other three children conversing with Chiron, Argus the security guard stood next to them looking irate but sensibly civil. Mr D. was right behind them, looking both amused and irritated in that way only the god of madness could.

She ignored the children for now and walked over to the god in disguise, sipping his diet coke and looking like he’d rather no one approached him, but resigned to the fact he could do nothing about it.

“Mr D.” For good measure she mimicked a curtsey. “Despite being here overlong I don’t believe we’ve met in an official capacity.”

The man looked at her for a second before eyeing his coke disdainfully. “Charmed. Now why don’t you scoot on over to Chiron’s Lonely Hearts Club Band over there and leave me in peace?”

Elizabeth held the scowl back and refrained from the grimace when she heard his none-too quiet whispers of ‘wanting to get sloshed just one more time’. As a polite young lady was to do in godly company, Elizabeth bowed her head, gave another mimicked curtsey, and wished him a good day. He was not much for polite conversation, it would seem, but the man was reportedly in constant foul spirits since his exiling from Olympus, so Elizabeth could see where his mood came from. That doesn’t, of course, mean she appreciates being shot down so quickly.

As her feet carried her to Chiron’s position – the centaur explaining things about the Quest to Grover and Annabeth memorising everything – the voice of her previous ‘conversation’ partner rung out.

“Girl, don’t die on this Quest.” He sipped his coke and grimaced. “You’re relatively unknown right now but I got the feelin’ that’ll change soon…which means you’ll most likely shake things up at Olympus.”

She sketched a mocking bow. “Glad to be of future service, then.”

She approached the four stood next to Argus with a nonplussed air about her, Dionysus’ raucous laughter filling the void behind her. It was a grating, rough, sickly sound that inspired her thoughts to turn the bloodiest they have been in years, but with iron will she kept the strain away from her features and returned Annabeth’s curious gaze with her usual blank one.

She had to remind herself he was also the god of madness, and such tales have been told of him to leave even her pale-faced. A lesson learned, Elizabeth believes, and one she won’t soon forget.

Elizabeth instead rounded Argus, patting him on the shoulder – trying very hard not to notice the bumps beneath his jacket. “I will not so much as scratch it, Argus. Rest assured.” She leaned in slightly. “I shall charm it to return when it is no longer needed.”

He gave her a solemn nod of thanks. Well, she assumes it was thanks.

They loaded themselves into Argus’ van – Elizabeth taking the wheel, seeing as she was quite literally the oldest there. She had exchanged no looks or words with Chiron, but she knew he was holding her to keep the children safe. She wouldn’t fail in that regard, at least. And not if she could help it.

Annabeth seated right behind her, looked down at a book in her hands and listed off the numerous places they would have to go – whether it was a bucket list, or some sort of trip that would make the Quest go smoother, Elizabeth isn’t too sure. But first, something Elizabeth should have had knowledge on from the start…

While pushing the van along the dirt road that would lead to the nearest…freeway? Highway? Elizabeth isn’t entirely sure – all she knows is that it’s a road, and she needs to get on it – she turns back slightly and wonders aloud: “Annabeth, dear, would you kindly remind me of the Prophecy for this Quest?”

Without further prompting the girl flicks through the notebook and rattles it off.

_“You shall go west, and face the god who has turned,_

_You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned,_

_You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend,_

_And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.”_

“Hmm…no mention of a specific number of heroes for the Quest. Perhaps my coming along will not be an issue after all…” Elizabeth made a sharp turn to exit the dirt path and lead on to…whatever the American version of a dual carriageway was. “Thoughts?”

Percy, surprisingly, piped in. “We think the ‘god who has turned’ might be Hades.” A scowl came to the boy’s face and Elizabeth eyed him briefly in the rear-view mirror. “He also took my mother, and could have the Lightning Bolt.”

Grover piped in. “Either one of those would work, I guess.” He chewed a can, the movement belaying his nervousness to some degree. “I mean, I’m more worried about ‘betrayed by one who calls you a friend’.”

Annabeth immediately went off on a tangent. “The wording’s extremely specific, isn’t it? ‘One who _calls_ you a friend’ but it doesn’t say ‘one who _is_ a friend’. Could it be the person is pretending friendship?”

“Very clever Little Owl,” praised Elizabeth, “but I would suggest resting. It’s a considerable distance from here to Long Island; if that is indeed where we’re going?”

Percy, even though she couldn’t see it, nodded. “Yeah, it’s a good place to stop and head L.A from.”

“In other words,” Annabeth continued “it’s a good place to get our bearings.”

“Then rest, children.” She tapped the side of the old CD player-radio that Argus had set up in the van and soon after some sort of relaxing blues music began playing. She could not help but lift an eyebrow; not the type of music she’d have pegged Argus for. Then again, she thinks drily, Argus is not an easy ‘man’ to get a read on.

As the children rolled in their chairs to find a comfortable seating position, Elizabeth frowned, comfortable in knowing that none of the children could see the action – what with them being in the backseats and all.

 _‘“Fail to save what matters most in the end”, hm?’_ Her eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror, watching as Percy started up a conversation with Annabeth, Grover already halfway asleep in his seat. _‘Perseus Jackson…the only heroes worth noting are the tragic ones, I’m afraid. Not many heroes have their stories told truthfully, and even fewer a story that was kind to hear.’_

Her eyes drifted back to the road, her knowledge of driving not extending to confidence that she could do it without looking at the road she was on for exceptionally long.

_‘This is a dangerous game I’m playing, here, but I’ve come too far to back out of it now…’_

Her mind flicked back to how calm, how peaceful, her life has been since she’d come to grips – of a sort – with Luna’s passing. Her mind brought up images of Annabeth and, to a lesser extent, before being turned into a tree, Thalia. Her chest ached at the thought of throwing that away.

Her newly-found heart throbbed in her chest at the thought of dying, and leaving an unprepared Annabeth behind in the world, all alone and with a godly parent unable to help.

_‘…or have I?’_

* * *

Artemis awoke amongst the Hunt that morning with a bitter feeling in her chest and a mournful feeling in her heart.


	10. Opening The Gate IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter's lacking in content but i just wanted to breeze past the bus scene without lingering too much; i never did like reading PJO stories that went too in-depth with the inconsequential fights and never lingered on the ones that matter.
> 
> however, i think, as consolation, this chapter opens a few eyes to how the Olympians view Percy and Elizabeth, and their Quest as a whole.

_“There is, I believe, a world of difference between planning for something to happen and choosing something to happen. Plans mean it’s a thought through and precise action of which you have decided to account for every issue and remove or mitigate it. Choosing just means you haven’t yet begun to plan a way around any issues you encounter, and instead charge through.”_

_“Is there an example?”_

_“A slave may choose to be free, Little Owl, but could then be left empty after so many years of being under another’s thumb.” At the understanding glint in Annabeth’s eyes, Elizabeth continued. “A slave may, however, plan their freedom and life afterwards, and when they are finally given it they know exactly what they want to do next.”_

_“So…a choice is like relying on second-hand information, while a plan is like having first-hand experience?”_

_Elizabeth nodded. “Exactly but not quite.” At Annabeth’s curious look she elaborated. “It’s a thing you can only understand when you’re put in a position to either choose or plan.”_

_“Is this one of those experiences I’m not gonna like?”_

_Elizabeth chuckled ruefully and put down the book in her hands. “It’s an experience I’m hoping to keep you away from…but I have a feeling my attempts will remain futile.”_

_She sighed and turned away form the curious eyes of Annabeth. Thalia was sleeping just opposite them, having worked herself into exhaustion training to keep up with that Castellan boy._

_Elizabeth punched down that fond feeling._

_“They’ve always been futile…in the end.”_

_She missed the grey eyes watching her curiously._

* * *

The Olympians were not fools, nor idiots of any sort. They were not stupid, new-born deities with delusions of ruling the world and enslaving mankind for daring breathe the same air as them. They were not petty children squabbling over scraps of a meal while their parents looked on ashamed and their elders looked on embarrassed. They were not foolish children fighting over the stupidest things, breaking promises almost as easily as they made them.

That, for some reason she cared not to decipher, annoyed her more than anything. To any other being a promise was a grave and sacred thing, to be kept at all costs lest dishonour befall you. And an oath to the Styx itself? A promise that transcends anything and everything, an oath to be kept on pain of a suffering worse than the cruellest death. A mortal, if they made an oath to the Styx, was bound by Ancient Laws to fulfil that oath exactingly, accordingly; not even Hades himself could save a soul if the Styx decided the oath was unfulfilled.

A god suffered nothing more than a slight inconvenience. A mortal would suffer a thousand pains and a million tortures before being allowed to rest from their torment at a broken oath, but the gods themselves? Deities that superseded logic and power to become something more?

They hand-waved away the consequences…simply for being _too important_. Oaths were made and broken on a whim by even the lowliest god, and nothing more than a ‘ten-year hiatus’ could be afforded. And the King of Gods? The ‘Mighty’ Zeus himself? He was nought more than a lying braggart, a man that would – quite literally – sleep with anything that breathed. A cheat – she mourned for his poor wife – and an arrogant fool that needed humility in his life. And a man that could break so many oaths as he has done simply because he was ‘too important’.

No one should be too important to keep a promise. No one. From the lowliest servant to the mightiest king! From the ugliest pauper to the prettiest Queen! None should hold power over oaths but oaths themselves!

And here comes Olympus, flaunting wealth and power and defying every form of logic to exist just because it _could_. Flaunting the power it held, defying their own laws to appease their fragile egos. Breaking promises as quickly as they were made, forging alliances as easily as they forged enemies, breaking bonds as easily as they breathed…

It made her sick, but she had plenty of time to unpack her odd fixation on oaths and promises later.

She calmed herself from her unusual thoughts and focused on pulling into the bus stop. Soon she would be free of Argus’ van and instead must take public transportation. A mode of travel she did not relish the idea of being on, but the van would not last too long, and she could only charm a vehicle to go so far.

It would return from here to the Camp as she promised, but if she drove it any further out Elizabeth would be breaking her promise. And she hated, more than anything in the world, breaking a promise.

She shook her head, focusing on the road; she would think these thoughts later, when alone and sure of her privacy. In a van of two demigods and a Satyr she was quite sure she would not have the privacy or quiet needed to unpack these thoughts.

As though to prove her point, Perseus spoke up.

“Hey, are we almost there yet?”

Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead kept them on the road ahead of her. She had no desire to test her ability to blind drive.

“As I have said _many times_ , Jackson, we are but a short way out.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she just knew it was a lost visage of stupidity and hopelessness.

“So…is that a ‘yes’ or…?”

Annabeth, having crawled into the ‘shotgun’ position sometime during the ride, palmed her face. A sigh that should never belong on one so young ratcheted from her lungs and she seemed to age fifty years before Elizabeth’s eyes.

Elizabeth couldn’t blame her, really. Jackson’s stupidity seemed almost dangerous if exposed to it for extended periods of time, and seeing as they’ve been driving for close to two hours now, she’s surprised she hasn’t just reached back there and throttled his neck. It was tempting, of course. Oh, so tempting in ways it probably should not be. Elizabeth ignored it and focused on the road.

“Yes, seaweed brain, it means we’re close.” Her voice then shifted from despondence to actual anger. Her small body seemed to shake in it, the hand clutched to her face dragging downwards until it plopped into her lap. “Now, if you’re done being _stupid_ …”

“Hey, I’m not stupid!” Percy turned to Grover. “Help me out, G-man.”

“Sorry Perce, but that was pretty stupid.”

“G…why…?”

“Dumb.” Annabeth agreed.

“It really was pretty dumb.”

“One could say it was retarded.”

Grover nodded. “I woulda said that it was pretty spastic, but that works too.”

Annabeth paused, seemingly in thought. “It kinda was pretty spastic, wasn’t it?”

Grover bleated his agreement, his voice barely holding in his laughter. “O-Oh, definitely.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes before using her free hand to smack Annabeth and Grover over the heads in quick succession; well, she smacked Annabeth, but Grover being in the back she had to resort to other means, using magic to lift his pan flute from his pocket and slam it over the top of his head. Percy looked at her gratefully.

“Hey!”

“What gives, old lady!?”

Grover didn’t know when the temperature somehow managed to drop below the negatives, but it did somehow. Goosebumps were breaking out all over his skin and his breath had caught in his throat, heart beating faster than he dared to count. In a way it was poetic; after all, many goats in the wild found themselves hopping mountains and freezing to death, or finding themselves before a predator and helpless to do anything but die to it. Grover, in his current state, felt as though the green eyes boring into his own through the rear-view mirror on the dashboard conveyed the intent to kill him quite well.

“I don’t believe I quite heard you correctly, Satyr. Could you repeat that for me?”

He would have marvelled at it had he been anyone else. All he could do was stutter out some useless bleats of apology and hope the apex predator glaring at him through the mirror didn’t decide he’d taste good.

“And you called _me_ an idiot?”

“You _are_ an idiot, seaweed brain.”

“Hey! Stop calling me-”

“Silence, Jackson. We’re here.” She waved the children from the car.

As they climbed out, grumbles and groans at having sat down for so long filled the air, but Elizabeth herself could hardly blame them; she’d been driving for damn near three hours now and her back felt like it was disassembled and reassembled by curious children. Her knees felt locked and stony, and she could do with some rest.

But they had to plod on, at least until they hit the bus station Perseus claimed would take them to New Jersey.

Elizabeth frowned at that; how _did_ Jackson know to go to New Jersey? Her eyes traced the boy in suspicion, but she put it out her mind just as quickly as the thought arrived. The boy was stupid, coming in to his own powers, untrained and laughable at any attempts at stealth.

She highly doubts he truly did steal the Lightning Bolt.

She tapped the steering wheel again and intermingled it with some of her magic, whispering the location it should drive itself back to.

She got out the van and closed the door, watching as it revved its own engine before setting off down the road towards Camp. The only thing Elizabeth hoped was that no one driving on the road noticed the van driving itself. While not the most religious of people even Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to scoff at literal gods controlling what mortals saw or not.

That was the excuse she gave herself as she prayed to Hecate for the van to arrive without complications.

“Now that that’s been taken care of…” She turned her head slightly to eye up the children behind her. It was a little bit disconcerting that none of them questioned how the van was driving itself; and a little disappointing, too. “What, exactly, is our location?”

Annabeth frowned. “We were discussing it in the van, though.”

Elizabeth quirked her brow. “I was driving, and I cannot afford to focus on anything else while doing so.” The ‘with you in the van’ went unsaid, but Annabeth’s cheeks heated anyway. She truly was a smart girl.

Perseus answered for her, surprisingly. “Well…The Prophecy said to ‘head West’ and New Jersey is West from Camp.”

Annabeth picked up from where he left off. “And New Jersey can act as a good place to get our bearings and figure out just where ‘West’ actually is.”

Elizabeth nodded, turning their attention to the approaching bus. “Well, looks like we’ll be back to sitting around, no?”

Groans filled her ears, and she couldn’t help but smile just a tad.

* * *

Forty minutes in and Elizabeth genuinely had to consider whether she’s angered some sort of fate or destiny goddess somehow.

Did she perhaps tick off Tyche? Her luck had been abysmal since birth and with Luna she’d thought it had gotten better, karma balancing itself out and all that jazz, but perhaps Tyche held a grudge against her? Did she anger her, perhaps? Go against one of her sons or daughters? Kill one of her sacred animals, maybe?

Or perhaps it was the three sisters of Fate themselves, the Moirai; Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. Dangerous enemies to have, seeing as they spun the thread of fate for the very existence of anything and everything. Clotho, the Spinner, spun the threads of a person’s life and wove them for her sister. Her sister Lachesis, the Allotter, measured the thread of a mortal’s life. The third and oldest sister, Atropos, ensured the threads handed to her were the correct ones before… _snip_ , that thread would be severed, and the mortal’s life would end.

It’s probably the same for other beings, too. Gods have their own threads within the loom of the Moirai but how, exactly, that worked…well, Elizabeth was not too sure.

Having the Three Sisters of Fate as enemies would drastically lower her life expectancy indeed. It would also explain the madness her life has currently turned into.

_Never your enemy, child. You are more important than you think._

She blew those thoughts away and focused on the three old women that tottered in the bus after it stopped to pick up extra passengers. Unassuming at first glance, and with a second and third glance she had written them off as little more than three old ladies boarding the bus. Of course, the location from where they’d stepped onto the bus from was quite suspect – practically in the middle of the woods – and their clothing was near identical, but for all Elizabeth knew these three people could just be following a new trend in mortal – or, well, muggle – fashion. She’d been at Camp for a good while now, and while the Aphrodite Cabin had made attempts to rectify her lack of knowledge on clothing outside of work outfits, they’d been largely unsuccessful.

It was when she checked a fourth time out of simple curiosity that she realised just how bad a situation they’d found themselves in and became the reason she’d began questioning whether she’d pissed a luck goddess or three off.

These women were monsters. Not just some low-ranking monsters, either, but quite powerful ones. In fact, where she to hazard a guess, Elizabeth would say these particular monsters were in service to the House of Hades. Which is a problem.

She recognised them, too, and if the low murmur from Perseus was any indication so did he; Grover seemed ignorant, happy to play little tunes on his pan flute that, surprisingly, no one had brought him up on. Their faces gnarled beneath the veils they used to hide from the mortals – as well as the Mist doing some of the legwork. Their legs were pinned and crooked, as a bird’s would be compared to. Their eyes were…slanted, peaked at the edges and gnarled as much as their beak-like faces were. She had no doubt their hands held talons instead of fingers.

She heard Perseus gasp out something next to her. “T-That’s Ms. Dodds…I-I thought I killed her in the school gym…” Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow; that sounded like an interesting story.

Annabeth, without prompting, slumped out of sight and shifted her invisibility cap on to hide herself more effectively. Her scent was still there but without sight aiding them the three old women now glaring at them would have a harder time of finding her.

Or, well, perhaps ‘three old women’ was a bit too generous. Especially for the Kindly Ones.

Elizabeth made sure to dip her head slightly, waving a hand slightly and keeping Mortals eyes and ears away form the conversation they were about to have; magic truly was too useful at times. And the fight, too, if she had an inkling as to why they were here seeking out Percy Jackson.

“How do you do, Kindly Ones?” She had effectively gathered the three’s attention from Percy, of whom she mimed to grab a sword and prepare himself. Thankfully, the boy’s latent talent for combat must be kicking in, because he had slumped down to hide himself and unsheathed his sword, waiting for the signal to attack. He would go far, this one.

“You...you stopped us from killing Zeus’ spawn.”

“You’re the one that destroyed that minotaur.”

“You’re the one that gave us Sally Jackson.”

Elizabeth shrugged, uncaring of the betrayed look Perseus sent her; as though he hadn’t known she’d done that? She had straight up told him as much when she was training him this morning before they set out on this fool’s errand.

She bowed her head in agreement, the three looking between themselves. “I did indeed, though I’m afraid the first two actions were…well, I didn’t have a choice, really.” Elizabeth tilted her head. “How _is_ Mrs Jackson, by the by?”

“Irrelevant.” Hissed the first Fury.

“You will suffer for your actions, half-blood.” Spat the second.

“We will drag you to Hades himself, worm!” Snarled the third one.

“Ah, so negotiations have broken down this quickly?” Elizabeth rubbed her forehead as though to stave off a headache, but a flash of something in her green eyes made the Furies back off slightly. “And here I thought we could be civil about this. Oh, well.”

Annabeth took that as a sign to plunge her dagger into the unsuspecting Fury’s neck, the other two jumping up; one flying towards herself with an almost animalistic snarl on her face, the other focused on keeping the mortals from noticing anything odd about three old ladies doing mortal combat with teenagers.

She looked down at her side to order Jackson to fight, only to find herself furiously jumping about the narrow hall of the bus to evade a whip of fire. “Damnit Jackson, what are you doing?”

She caught sight of him after cartwheeling backwards away from the fire whip, skirting the edges of the fight and running to the front of the bus.

“…I know I call you an idiot, seaweed brain, but this is just too much!”

* * *

“GIVE IT BACK!”

Thunder crackled and lightning flicked about the great and mighty halls of Olympus, ozone and the scent of salt filling the noses of the gods and goddesses that were called to attend the council. It was a farce, really, the gods seated in their thrones milling about arguing or pointing blame, and the ones that weren’t were too busy staring stoically at the two fighting.

Everyone knew these council sessions had become more and more heated, but none expected them to come to blows.

“I DIDN’T STEAL IT!”

Hestia, from her place at the Hearth, watched the ongoing argument with disappointment in her eyes. After a second or two of watching them and ensuring that they wouldn’t be calming down any time soon, Hestia turned her gaze back to her Hearth and sighed.

It was always like this. They were always shouting and fighting instead of talking and negotiating. They were a family; couldn’t they see that? They needed to stick together and be better than they were right now, arguing and scrapping over the simplest of things. It was maddening, being the Goddess of Hearth and Home, and having a family that would sooner kill each other than accept them.

Hera, thankfully, slammed her lotus staff to the ground and used her power to amplify the sound above the noises of Poseidon and Zeus fighting each other.

“ENOUGH!” When the Queen of Olympus noted the hall had quieted down, she nodded and sat into her throne. “Now that we are done squabbling like _children_ …” She sent a glare at Poseidon and a harsher one at Zeus when he seated himself by her side again.

Zeus coughed into his hand, using the motion to gather his wits and flee from the angered eyes of his wife for a few seconds. None were fooled by the action. “Yes…the council may begin.”

Aphrodite, eyes locked onto a hand mirror, spoke what they were all thinking. “Why were we called here, again?”

Before Zeus could answer it was Apollo that did. “Wanna go back to watching that mortal of yours, ‘Dite?”

The soft clack of a hand mirror being put down pursued her answer. “Yes, actually. I find her more entertaining than I find you, Apollo.”

The god, as though wounded, placed a hand on his chest and faked a heaving gasp. “You wound me, ‘Dite! What happened to our friendship?”

“We were friends?”

Athena looked up from a book she was reading to stare at Apollo with a reproachful stare. “For once I agree with Aphrodite.” Athena flipped the page, eyes going back down to the book. “She is infinitely more interesting than you and your terrible haikus.”

Apollo made some sort of noise that sounded vaguely like a wounded animal. Hermes, to his side, cracked up and began laughing, with Dionysus following suit.

Artemis rolled her eyes and addressed her father. “We are here for the mortal Aphrodite has been watching, father?”

Zeus sent her a nod back. “Yes. Apparently, she’s deemed fit to _interfere_ in the Quest.”

Artemis’ face slacked in disbelief, but it was Demeter to ask the question they were all thinking. “When you say ‘interfere’…”

Hera piped in next. “What my husband means is that, because she’s there, there are now _four_ Questers.”

Apollo coughed into his hand to get Hera’s attention. “Well…from what I saw of the Prophecy it didn’t explicitly state that only three Questers were necessary.” Here he frowned, many other gods following his thought processes. “It was pretty open-ended, actually. And vague, too.”

Artemis shot her brother a look. “Does that mean it’ll be a problem for them?”

“I don’t know. Usually, these things aren’t all that specific, true…”

Hermes finished off for him. “A lot of the time, though, the Quests are done by three people unless specifically stated otherwise.”

Artemis caught on, her frown increasing, but it was Athena that voiced their burgeoning thoughts. “It would seem, due to the Quest’s open but obscure Prophecy, that Aphrodite’s mortal may actually be a _part_ of the Quest instead of being an interloper.”

Zeus slumped in his throne, looking slightly put out at not having the justification to call for the girl’s head. “Fine.” He sat back up. “Aphrodite, tell us about this mortal of yours.”

The woman rolled her eyes but sat up straighter and put down the makeup kit she’d been fiddling with. 

“Her name’s Elizabeth Potter-”

As Aphrodite continued, regaling the tragic yet oddly heroic tale of Elizabeth Potter, none took note of the oddly curious Hestia listening in. the oldest goddess seemed to be hanging off every word, and an odd gleam entered her fire-lit eyes when Aphrodite regaled the rest of the deities around them with tales of tragedy and promises, romance and loyalty.

The Hearth goddess seemed especially interested when told of her tales of Loyalty, and how it, along with Love, may be the girl’s Fatal Flaw.

None took note of the oddly despondent Artemis, tears tracking her otherwise stoic mien. The way she slumped would be the very picture of defeated, but the shine in her eyes hinted at a need to run from the meeting and not hear anymore; the only thing keeping her here was propriety. She didn’t look like she needed to think things through, rather she looked like she needed to act on plans she’d already come up with and was being held from acting.

No one noticed the tense looks she’d give Aphrodite whenever the woman mentioned the ‘tragic romance sad enough to move even her’ or ‘the loyalty of a woman enraptured by a bright soul’. None noticed her flinch in guilt when described the death of Elizabeth Potter’s spouse. None noticed the tears continue their traces when Aphrodite began talking about the adventures that defied what even some of the bravest heroes had achieved. None noticed the longing when Zeus ordered Iris to open a one-way Iris Message for them to watch this new fascination on her Quest.

None but Hera, anyway.

It was something that could be addressed later, however. In a more private location perhaps.

Hera turned her gaze from Artemis and focused on the Iris Message, just in time to watch Poseidon’s fool of a son pull the brakes on a bus and almost singlehandedly kill all four Questers.

Poseidon, for his part, looked suitably embarrassed.


	11. Opening The Gate V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter but it'll set up for 'Auntie Em' and the trip to the Gateway Arch.

_"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."_

_\- Roald Dahl_

* * *

She loved her magic, adored it even. It was an extension of her iron will, sharpened to a spearhead, flattened to a shield. It was both her offense and her defence, both her saviour and her sanctuary. Oftentimes she’d wished to share this beautiful gift with others, but those fetid creatures known as the Dursleys scorned her existence for the slight possibility she might have magic.

And _oh_ , did she have magic.

It pulsed through every neuron in her brain, lit up every cell in her body, inhabited every inch of her marrow and drifted through her blood like it belonged nowhere else. It raced across her skin in tune with her heartbeat, drifted between her fingertips like water, kissed her knuckles and the backs of her hands like it was proclaiming undying companionship. It pulsed through her nerves, warming her insides up with a steady feeling of homeliness.

Those disgusting, misshapen monsters known as the Dursleys were wrong about her. They called her a freak. They called her a monster. She twisted their bodies into shapes only a pretzel could come close to resembling and left their sweaty, odorous carcasses to rot like the filth they were. Her magic poured from her malnourished body with the rage of a dog loyal to its injured master and gripped their bones tight in the jaws of unrefined, yet powerful, anger. It clamped and twisted until their screams had silenced, and in the wake all she could hear were the snakes in the garden of the Dursley home whispering how much they were pleased to see her fight back.

They called her an Empress, and it took everything she could not to break down and laugh hysterically. An Empress, her? Of what? Of the snakes, writhing beneath her ankles in a way a cat would its beloved human? Of magic, of that ethereal force that dripped between her pours like water? Of freedom, a sensation she’d only just discovered was much more pleasant and terrible than she’d originally thought?

She brushed them aside, dragged her writhing magic back beneath her skin, packed her meagre belongings and fled Surrey.

Her memories of her fleeing are jumbled, messy things that make no sense to anyone but her, and that’s the way she likes it. Her magic merged with something deeper, something older, and it guided her through the dangers of life on the streets to Luna. Her precious Luna.

She now knows, through hazy thought processes and half-audible conversations, that she is a demigod. That the old and ancient thing her magic blended with was the latent power of her godly parent. And that moment, when she made the connection between the magic in her bones and the ancient blood flowing through her veins, was the moment she knew she was meant for more than greatness. She was meant to rule.

She took the mantle of Empress and wore it like royalty was wont to do.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she’d look up at the sky to see a whole, full moon. Her magic would silence itself and yearn for the touch of the celestial body. The snakes would hiss and kiss her skin with forked tongues and promises of power. Her ancient blood would pulse, race, and slow beneath the moon.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she’d know she was meant for less. A simple life beneath the pale moon, sprinting through forests and bounding around trees with a bow in hand and a smile on her face. Maybe she’d take a seat in the stars and look down on the earth; so small, so wild and free in its ways, and she’d laugh hale and hearty that she was bigger and yet so smaller than any problems she’d ever had.

Sometimes, just sometimes, very rarely, she’d have the strangest urge to greet the moon. Smile at it, tell it her life, her stories. Sometimes, just sometimes, Elizabeth wished she could say she knew why she felt like the moon was staring back at her. Kisses on the wind against her neck, a breath of air to her ears. A promise from the trees that she’d run through them, free of responsibility and burdens, and let go of her past.

She’d see glints of silver and wish she had eyes like that. She’d smell the scent of nature and wish she belonged in it. she feel the hands of leaves and hope she’d someday be a part of it all. So simple. So free.

It scared her, sometimes, when she realised these dreams were a little too familiar to be anything less than demigod dreams. That a god of some sort had dragged her form her normal dreams into this mockery of reality. And, yet, Elizabeth could feel nothing but thankfulness.

She wanted that moon so badly, she desired to run through the forest with a bow and an arrow. She wished she could hold the moon in her palms and promise it anything.

It terrified her when she heard a voice saying it would give her anything back. Anything and everything she could ever want.

She whispered back; she’d give anything it wanted. It just kissed her cheek and mumbled that it only wanted her happiness. Elizabeth swore she’d find this giver of her demigod dreams and stay with them until the end of time, a proposal if there ever was one. Luna never even became an afterthought until several hours later, when she awoke.

The first time she dreamt that dream was the first time Elizabeth began to hate her magic.

But this was no dream. She’d brought her magic up to protect her head as it collided with a metal pipe and she felt it resist her calls. It refused to help her.

She loathed her magic.

* * *

Annabeth didn’t know what to think about Percy Jackson, didn’t know what to feel about him either.

Other than irritated.

And annoyed.

And exasperated beyond all belief and comprehension.

For crying out loud she was a Daughter of Athena herself, the Goddess of Wisdom! She should know what to feel about the complete and utter moron that had nearly sent all four of them flying out the windscreen of the bus, or – if that didn’t happen – squashing them against the sides of the bus in a morbid depiction of how a bug was smashed against the boot of something bigger.

She did not know what to think about the boy known as Percy Jackson, and right now she wouldn’t have to, either. Right now, she needed to stick to her mother’s side – that always did make her smile when she thought about it – because she’s quite sure Elizabeth – her _mother_ , it’s still an amazing thought! - has a concussion. A nasty one, too. After Jackson slammed the emergency brakes for the bus and damn near flipped the entire thing, Elizabeth got smacked by the fire whip she’d been trying to avoid and crashed against a metal railing. Presumably designed to be used by passengers to grab and hold on to, and _not_ to be used as a pillow by demigods who get sent flying headfirst into them. From the thud she heard and the blood spattering her mother’s head the wound could be construed as dangerous, but she’d force-fed her some Ambrosia to close up the wound and all but dragged her from the bus as the mortals began screaming and panicking.

As soon as she saw her mother hit the ground after her head was banged and she didn’t see her get back up something in her fundamentally shifted. Something dangerous in her whispered the many different strategies she could take and employ to make sure Percy would suffer; from torture to ostracization her mind rushed through as many as fifty plans and strategies. She discarded them all and chalked her thought process up to the rivalry between Poseidon and Athena bleeding through.

She didn’t realise how wrong she was.

Her mind raced a mile a second, a true Daughter of Athena indeed, and with but a look she invites Grover to help her. Because as much as she’d love to say she’s strong enough to help her mother with some things, walking certainly isn’t one of them; neither is hobbling along, praying to Hecate that the Mist would show the watching mortals something that doesn’t end up hurting her mother’s reputation, cursing out Jackson every four steps and glaring a hole into the back of his head.

To be fair to Percy he had apologised pretty quickly for essentially braining her mother and took lead of the group in Elizabeth’s stead with surprising zeal. For a boy that does not want to be in any kind of spotlight he takes to a leading position with surprising ease. It was like he slipped into a pair of shoes, too big for his little feet but with the knowledge that he’d grow into them perfectly.

Something to tell Elizabeth when she wakes up, Annabeth thinks. For now, though, she’d best focus on making sure her mother can rest.

“Guys!”

Annabeth and Grover shared a look before looking at Percy.

Grover bleated a little before shrugging some more of Elizabeth’s weight on his own shoulders to give Annabeth a rest; something she was rather grateful for, in all honesty. While she would love to say she supported her mother from start to end, just as Elizabeth had supported her, she could not really do that. She was only twelve and still small for her age, and while the numerous exercises Elizabeth had drilled into her and Thalia gave her some tone it was not enough to help her with a fully grown adult’s weight pressing down on her.

She rolled her shoulders to loosen up any crags or chinks and sighed when a rather loud popping noise came when she stretched her back. Grover flinched, shooting her a dirty glare that she dutifully ignored. Now that she was free from the trappings of carrying an unconscious body around she could focus on their surroundings a little more, and came to the same conclusion Percy had undoubtedly come to when she squinted and focused in the distance.

“Auntie Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium?”

Percy walked over to her, shrugging in confusion of which, for once, she shared. “Yeah. Dunno why it’s all the way out here but I think it also serves fast food.” Just as he mentioned that his stomach growled, and hearing the war cry of its comrade nearby her own stomach followed suit. She had the grace and decency to acknowledge she was hungry and, therefore, abstained from blushing like a fool. Elizabeth had hammered home, after all, that food was a necessity; if your body cried for food, it meant it needed it, not wanted it. _‘Never feel embarrassed at wanting something you need, only needing something you want’._

Annabeth took that lesson to heart the very second she heard it. Thalia didn’t. No, Thalia had to be special about it, just like everything else about her, and did the exact opposite; always complaining when given something she needed, always whooping and bouncing when given something she wanted.

Thinking about Thalia hurt her chest and made water spring up behind her eyelids, so Annabeth brushed those thoughts off.

Grover bleated uncertainly, but a quick look from her told her he didn’t even know why. Perhaps he wasn’t good around strangers? Distantly a part of her brain noted that Satyrs were good for smelling out monsters, but he hadn’t warned them of danger; so perhaps there wasn’t any? Or maybe the run-in with the Kindly Ones had screwed with his sense of smell?

She patted her stomach as though to assure the thing it would be getting fed soon, Percy moving back a bit to look around for monsters. _‘Probably has a hatred of them since his mother was kidnapped by the minotaur…or given.’_

Annabeth frowned, eyes locking with an oddly lifelike statue that rested just outside the Garden Gnome Emporium. And fast-food place if Percy was to be believed.

 _‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would mother just…_ let _Sally Jackson get taken? Unless, of course, she had no choice. Or she was threatened. With what? What could possibly threaten her?’_

She was shocked out of her thoughts by the sound of a grunt. “A-Annabeth help me!” She spun on a heel, dagger in hand, before she took in the sight and rushed over to the Satyr of the group, of whom was doing his damnedest to not drop Elizabeth. Without a word she took some of the weight off him, Grover bleating in thanks. “Thanks, Annabeth. I might’a dropped her if you didn’t help.”

She shot him a tight smile in response. “Don’t worry about it Goat Boy. Let’s just catch up to seaweed brain before he pulls another bus stunt.”

With that thought in mind both Questers hurried their steps. Neither of them was all that eager to leave Percy to his own devices for any length of time.

A female voice, Mediterranean by the sounds of it, stopped all of them in their tracks.

“Oh, hello children. What are you doing out there?”

* * *

“Your child is possibly the stupidest you have ever had, Poseidon.” Zeus’ biting remark made most of the gods around him flinch.

The Lord of Atlantis rested his face in his hands and groaned loudly, getting commiserating chuckles from some of the other gods and even a pat on the back from Demeter. Hera graced him with a cold look that sent a shiver down his spine, and he just knew if Amphitrite were with them, she’d be chewing him out and yanking on his ear in that distinctly unpleasant way only she could manage. He’d probably be finding himself sleeping alone for a while, too, and let’s not even get started on the disappointed gazes Triton was sure to give him.

Apollo grinned toothily. “Sorry Uncle but…” he burst out laughing, gasping his sentence between hysterical giggles. “That was pretty stupid!”

Poseidon just groaned louder.

Hermes looked up from his phone briefly to throw a thumbs up to the groaning sea god before looking back down and typing something out. He took his business seriously and no one could doubt that.

Demeter patted the sea god on the shoulder and, in the softest, most soothing voice she could manage, said: “Maybe the boy wouldn’t be so stupid if he ate his cereal?”

Poseidon was this close to sobbing. _This_ close.

Hestia smiled and spent the remainder of her attention on the Iris Message that showed what the Questers were up to.

After a moment of mocking the sea god, the Olympian Council and a few minor gods and goddesses that had been called up followed suit with Hestia and looked back to the Iris Message.

Artemis didn’t really care all that much for the Quest, but her eyes did remain fixated on Elizabeth; that head wound looked…nasty was putting it lightly. She remained stoic on the outside, but the inside was raging and whirling with thoughts and tension, snapping tough and taught like one of her bow strings.

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed on Elizabeth, before surreptitiously shifting to a stoic Artemis.

Athena’s voice brought them all back to the Iris Message.

“I know that voice…”


End file.
